


Octocobra

by walking_tornado



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hate to Love, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_tornado/pseuds/walking_tornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural never aired, but Kripke had another project: Octocobra. In his third season as lead of the series, Jensen Ackles’ comfortable routine is shattered by the arrival of a guest actor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Octocobra

  


## Prologue: Episode 1.01, Pilot

THEN (ten years ago)

A sneaker slips in the mud as a wide-eyed, sandy-haired boy of around thirteen throws himself behind a dumpster and crouches there. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

“Please,” he whispers, barely audible, and he clenches his eyes. The freckles, that spatter his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, move as he scrunches his face. He’s a cute kid, and he’s been told all his life that he’ll grow up to be a heartbreaker someday. If he lives that long.

He hears voices in the distance, and the boy’s eyes pop open, emerald irises surrounded by white. Rising from his crouch, he stays hidden and looks around wildly but sees nowhere to go. The fading light shows a gate blocking the alley, and the dumpster provides the only hiding place.

“Deeean.” A voice echoes down the alley. “Dean, we know where you are. There’s no way out from here. You know that, right?”

Dean’s breath quickens and his arms and legs tremble with the need to do something, anything. He eyes the gate again, noting how very tall it is, with a row of barbed wire stretched across the top, made to prevent exactly what he contemplates.

“We’re going to make the little shit wish he'd never been born!”

Dean hears a chorus of laughter accompany the sentiment, before he bursts into motion. He leaves his inadequate shelter and begins to scramble up the fence. The group of teenage boys gives chase. Hands catch his feet and Dean kicks out, hitting one of his assailants in the face. The group overwhelms him and drags him down. The alley darkens as the sun sets.

Blows rain down. Fists at first, but then mostly kicks. The boy curls in and covers his head to protect himself. Then he screams. His attackers freeze and look at each other but the screaming continues.

“Hey! Stop that!” says the leader of the group, a good-looking, blond-haired kid sporting clean, new designer clothes. He reached down and pulls Dean up by his shirt. “Shut. Up!” he continues, and punctuates his command with a shake. Then he jerks back and lets the younger boy fall to the ground. “What? Shit!”

Whimpering and sprawled on his back, Dean lowers his head to stare at his chest, where patches of blood seep through his white, dirtied t-shirt.

One of the boys approaches to deliver another kick, but, just before his foot connects, Dean’s shirt explodes, and the boy’s foot is caught. Something wraps around it and the boy can’t shake free.

“Snakes! Fuck! Help me!” he screams. A boy sporting a backwards facing ball-cap lifts a large rock and throws it at snake wrapped around his friend’s leg. Dean screams in pain.

Before the boy can back away, three other faceless snakes appear. One attaches itself to his wrist, and another wraps itself around the boy’s face, knocking off the ball-cap as it winds around, and soon only wide, frightened eyes can be seen. The rest of the group takes off, running. The first boy, who had never ceased his struggle to escape, tugs ineffectually to prevent a coil from wrapping itself around his throat. He claws at it and the bands constrict tighter, until all movement stops.

For several minutes, no movement or sound comes from the alley. Dean lays frozen, with his mouth open in a silent scream, and stares in horror at the two lifeless bodies next to him. A panicked, stuttering whimper escapes when the coils slowly loosen and begin retreating unhurriedly towards him. He looks down to see them disappearing into his chest. When no traces of the snakes remain, Dean stands, slowly, on shaky legs. His white shirt is a mess of blood. Eight ragged holes have appeared: a row of four going down each side of his torso. He brings his trembling hands to the holes but doesn’t touch them. Tears trail down his face, leaving channels in the dirt and blood.

Breath coming in short, shallow gasps, Dean runs, tripping and stumbling as he leaves the alley, keeping to the shadows.

NOW. . .

* * *

TheTVWatcher’s 30-second review

> Creativity is dead. I’m disgusted—no, I’m horrified—by what the CW think the television-viewing public wants to watch. “Octocobra” is the newest putrid offering presented to us by the CW. It is yet another police drama, and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, they’ve merged it with the cheesiest of comic book rip-offs: tentacles. A tentacled detective superhero in some unnamed US city, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I would prefer a tedious reality show rerun to this drivel. I’ll be shocked if it lasts to the end of the season.

* * *

## Episode 3.02, If It Looks Like A Duck

InterTV catches up with CW’s Jensen Ackles

_Int:_ This is InterTV on the set of Octocobra, going into its third season, and we’re talking with Detective Dean Cobra himself, Jensen Ackles. Jensen, are you excited at the renewal for Season 3?

 _JA:_ Like you wouldn’t believe! We came in first as a mid-season replacement and got picked up, and then the strike cut Season 2 in half. So I think the writers are even happier than I am that they can finally get into a more involved storyline.

 _Int:_ If I remember, Season 2 ended with your character unconscious after getting shot while saving the life of the man who was hunting you. Since Octocobra is back, we can assume you make it out okay, right? Any spoilers about how Cobra survives being shot in the chest and left to die in the wilderness?

 _JA:_ Well, I can tell you that we won’t have that fully resolved in the first episode, so you guys’ll have to be patient.

 _Int:_ Season 1 shows were mostly Monster-of-the-Week episodes, with Dean Cobra hiding his ability, but Season 2 changed a bit and brought in the monster-hunter arc. What direction do you think the show will go this season?

 _JA:_ The writers don’t tell us much in advance. Expect a bit of everything. I imagine we’ll see the Monster Hunters again, and maybe learn more about Cobra’s childhood. And I hope they expand the cast, and keep some of the guest actors around longer. I could use some time off, y’know?

 _Int:_ They work you pretty hard.

 _JA:_ I mean, Sterling and I are in almost every scene. It makes a long day.

 _Int:_ Sterling says you’re a regular at his daughter’s softball games.

 _JA:_ Hey, the Minuets play a great game!

 _Int:_ What’s it like filming with your best friend?

 _JA:_ Awesome, man! We get along so well, and I think that comes across onscreen between Cobra and Walker. I mean, it’s fun, all of it. And I’ve been around sets where that wasn’t the case, and this is so much more relaxed. Our cast and crew. . . they’re just the best. And Sterling feeds me, which is always good! His wife makes this lasagna, and I’ll tell you, she puts all this healthy stuff in it, and you think, ugh, this is going to be awful, but it’s amazing!

 _Int:_ Your character in the beginning seemed a bit shallow, a flirt, a womanizer. And then he finally gets into a real relationship and we see some real emotional depth. Then when she’s killed, he starts picking up someone new every night. Our readers want to know if we’re going to see any new significant relationships for detective Cobra?

 _JA: *laughs*_ Well, he does get around. Nah, man, I don’t think Dean Cobra was ever shallow. I mean, he’s had a rough life, and has this big secret and all. He’s terrified of strong emotions, ‘cause of the whole tentacle thing, so he does keep everything on lockdown. But it’s all an act. I think all the playing around last season was a reaction to his girlfriend’s death at the end of season 1. I mean, he’s a complex character to play, and there’s a lot going on under the surface. Maybe we’ll get to see more of it this season.

 _Int:_ Really?

 _JA:_ No, no, that’s not a spoiler! More of a hope – and I’d like to see some of the back-story developed: how he got to where he is. We’ve had hints of it, but it would be interesting to see more.

 _Int:_ I think the fans would enjoy that.

 _JA:_ Well, we do it all for you guys.

 _Int:_ Jensen, thank you again for taking the time to talk to us today.

 _JA:_ My pleasure.

* * *

Season 3 Trailer

“This Friday. . .” _Image of male torso. Cut to fighting (faces hidden). Someone crashes through a window. A naked male torso twists and flexes. There is circular scarring along the ribs. Tentacles slowly start to emerge from the scars._

  
  


“. . . Jensen Ackles is Detective Cobra . . .” _Flashes of scenes from Seasons 1 and 2._

“. . . Sterling Brown is Detective Walker. . .” _Closeup of a gun firing. Jensen Ackles, bleeding, collapses to the ground. Close-up of Ackles, on the ground, unconscious. Fade to black._

“Octocobra is back!”

* * *

“They can’t expect this to get on television! It reads like fucking tentacle porn!” Jensen said before throwing his script into the air. A breeze flowing through the trailer from the open windows sent it into the face of an extra walking by. Octocobra’s star banged his head against the wall.

“Hah! Bet you’re glad this isn’t HBO,” smiled Sterling, his co-star, putting aside his own copy of the latest scene. “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. You don’t even have much dialogue for this one, a bit of groaning here and there. . .” he laughed again and picked up his beer. “You’ll probably finish up your coverage pretty quick. . . I’m the one with the fight scenes! You should look at it like a bonus long-weekend.”

Walking to the window, Sterling waved to the extra, “Hey? Mind grabbing those pages before they blow away? Jensen’s kinda having a bad day.” Jensen didn’t hear the reply, but saw motion out of the corner of his eye, and soon Sterling handed him a disorganized handful of pages.

“Have they cast the guest spot yet?” Jensen asked from where he was sprawled on the trailer’s couch, head still leaning against the wall and eyes closed.

“Who? Your adoring virginal damsel-in-distress?” Jensen could almost hear the smirk in Sterling’s voice. “Haven’t heard. But from the last few, it looks like Octocobra’s type is well-endowed, blond, and really easy, doesn’t it?”

“Argh, kill me now. You know, my mom watches this crap!”

“Hey! Watch what you call the show that gives me a paycheck! Honestly, I dunno who they’ve picked this time. But c’mon, man-up! You could be me: kidnapped, beat-up, choked, and . . . let’s see . . . this week, it’s. . . laptop to the face and knee to the gonads. Instead you get to fondle the ladies. Tell me that’s fair, Captain Kirk.”

It was Jensen’s turn to smile. “I’d love to see that. If Michelle sees you ‘fondling ladies’ you’re not going to look beaten just ‘cause of makeup. Your wife can be scary, dude!”

Sterling pretend-shuddered, but his eyes sparkled. “I keep telling people she’s like this wicked witch, but does anyone believe me . . .? Noooo.” Changing direction, Sterling said, “On that note, are you coming to supper on Sunday? Michelle’s on this international foods kick. She’s making a bunch of recipes that she got online, and I don’t know what any of it is, but there’s way too many vegetables. If you’re there maybe I can use your unrefined Texas palate as an excuse for burgers . . .”

“Yeah, I feel your pain. I dunno, maybe I’ll. . .”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted him. “Mr. Ackles, you’re needed in wardrobe!”

* * *

“ACTION!”

Two suited men strode forward and knocked on the red front door of a tidy suburban bungalow. A short woman with wavy brown hair opened the door. She wiped at her reddened eyes.

“Miss Brodeau, I’m Detective Dean Cobra and this is my partner Gordon Walker.”

“Call me Helen. Did you find my boyfriend?” She sniffled and clasped her hands to her chest.

“Sorry, ma’am, we got there too late. There was nothing we could do.” Helen threw herself, sobbing, into Dean’s arms. He held her as she cried. A phone rang and Detective Walker reached into his jacket for his cell phone, and turned away for privacy. He snapped his phone shut as he returned to Dean.

“C’mon Dean, we gotta go,” he said.

“Dammit, Walker! In a minute! Kinda busy here.” Dean bent his head to look her in the eye. “Are you going to be okay, Helen?”

“I . . . I can’t be alone right now. Please stay.”

“Something’s not right here, Dean," Walker said when he'd taken Dean aside. "Seem a bit strange to you? I think she’s faking.”

“Yeah. I’ll stay with her tonight and keep an eye on things. See what you can dig up on our Miss Brodeau.”

“You got it.” Walker gave Helen a nodded “ma’am” before he walked away. Dean went back to Helen, who had been quietly staring at both of them while they conferred.

“CUT. Okay. One more time. Set up close-ups on Jensen. Uh . . . you . . . Miss Brodeau. Lean back a bit out of Jensen’s light. Great, that’s it! . . . aaand ACTION!”

* * *

The next morning, Jensen sat awkwardly in make-up, his third left tentacle digging into his ribs, and wished that the networks had picked up Kripke’s other show instead, the one about the brothers fighting ghosts and other urban legends. That one probably wouldn’t have had him shirtless in the early mornings getting prosthetics applied. His nipples hardened with the cold, and Jensen gave Lanie points for attempting not to ogle as she applied his makeup.

Kripke’s urban legends series had never made it past the pilot. Jensen had played the younger brother, Sam, who had tried to leave his family for a more normal life. Luckily, Jensen had impressed a number of people with his dedication to the role, so when Kripke came up with Octocobra, Jensen was his first choice for the lead. Jensen personally felt that the Supernatural show had the stronger plot, but others apparently disagreed. Jensen smiled to himself, earning a scowl from Lanie, as he thought about how much Kripke had actually borrowed from Supernatural.

Jensen would admit that, from that first episode, he meshed a lot better with his Octocobra co-star than with the guy they’d cast to play his older brother in the Supernatural pilot. The guy had been a decent actor, but there had been something missing. Jensen could have made it work, though; they’d just needed a bit more time to get used to each other. He found the opposite with Octocobra: a weak story but really solid chemistry with Sterling. They just played off each other really well. He and Sterling got a good laugh from the fan sites that had them as more than friends, and sometimes in threesomes with Misha. The fans seemed willing to ignore the fact that all three were not only straight, but married—except for him: he’d signed the divorce papers over a year ago. He sighed.

* * *

The damn tentacles itched, and Jensen tried to distract himself. “So, Gen,” Jensen said, as he placed his hand on the actress’ breast, as per instructions. “You watch the show?”

The role of Octocobra’s weekly love interest, Helen, had been given to a beautiful young lady named Genevieve. Genevieve was perfect for the role, and her delivery nearly flawless, which would hopefully make this uncomfortable scene go by more quickly. He only wished that Genevieve hadn’t been flirting with him all morning—awkward— but at least now she seemed resigned to his complete lack of interest.

“Ah . . . no, sorry. I mostly watch shows like that Marry a Millionaire and all the dancing ones. I do a lot of stage acting, and I don’t have that much time. I did watch a couple episodes to get an idea what it was about, but. . . it’s not really my thing,” she stopped. “Do you wear these all the time?” She flicked one of the tentacles, and received an annoyed, “Leave ‘em alone,” from Grant, the head puppeteer.

“Not all the time, but, yeah, every few days. They try to group all the tentacle scenes together.” Jensen shrugged. His shrug earned him another glare from Grant, who, with a wire held between his teeth, scowled up at them both from under Jensen’s armpit. One of the something-or-others that animated his topmost right tentacle only worked occasionally, resulting in fits and starts, not the smooth sinuous motion they needed. The poor guy had been working on it for a while now, as one of the assistant puppeteers tried to locate a replacement. Another 15 minutes of standing around, making small talk, and the problem was fixed.

Genevieve grimaced as someone manoeuvred one of Jensen’s lower tentacles down the back of her unzipped designer jeans and the lighting director loudly complained, yet again, about the glare from the Vaseline-covered appendages. A kid came by with a towel and rubbed off some of the Vaseline; it needed to look slightly glistening, but not gross and wet.

“Seriously, it looks way better on camera,” he tried to assure her. Genevieve was obviously unimpressed, and Jensen couldn’t blame her. Standing here up close, the tentacles looked ridiculous and fake, but once on film, with the right angles, lighting, and some CGI touches, it was amazing how lifelike it came across.

“And why is it your character has these? Is he like an alien or bitten by a radioactive octopus or something? Or a snake-person, maybe – it looks more like skin-colored snakeskin . . .” She ran a finger along the topmost right tentacle and Jensen fervently hoped that she’d be gentle so the damned thing wouldn’t break and hold them up any more. He looked around surreptitiously for Grant, ready to declare that he had nothing to do with it. Chivalry was all well and good, but the puppeteer was surly on the best of days and it wouldn’t take much to set him off. And Grant was about triple Jensen’s size.

Jensen sighed again, finding it hard to believe that anyone actually watched the show. But no, going into its third season, the show had a large and vocal following, and the few links that his friends emailed to him left him shocked and reeling. _Wow, what some people want to do with tentacles_ ; he still couldn’t think of it without turning red. And from the latest scene, he wondered if the show’s writers hadn’t been spending a bit too much time online.

* * *

The banging and clamoring from the hotel suite next to his made watching TV impossible, unless he jacked up the sound to ridiculous levels and risked being a similar inconsiderate jerk. He rolled his shoulders back and forth to relieve some of the tension that had built up as the volume next door increased. Jensen was certainly not the sole guest of the hotel, not even the sole long-term guest, and he had received his fair share of thoughtless neighbours. The stretching helped some, but not enough, and the screeching of a loud male voice next door had him gritting his teeth. Staying here would be counter-productive if the goal this weekend was rest and relaxation.

Jensen flicked off the TV. He located and slipped on his workout clothes. His sister’s voice rang through his head, questioning the classification of the ratty dark grey-ish things as clothes.

“They’re comfortable,” he muttered.

Granted, his workout underwear were in such tatters that, really, they served no purpose, being little more than an elastic band with pieces of partially connected cloth hanging from them. But it was a gym, and who really cared, or would even see them? He considered leaving them off, but underwear was one of those basic garments that automatically went on and he felt uncomfortable going commando. He saved the good underwear for work; his ass got a lot of scrutiny there, and lately the pants that wardrobe selected were tight enough that he worried any holes would show up on camera.

Jensen grabbed his script and his I-pod and left the neighbour to his racket.

As usual, the hotel gym was empty at that time of night. It was Jensen’s favorite time to come: no distractions, no sideways glances, and no whispers or giggles. He put in his earbuds and started walking. He kept a steady pace, not too fast, reading through the next day’s scene. He was going to be rescued by the new guy, who had quite the entrance. The writers and producers were playing things close to the chest this season, but it didn’t have the feel of a short-term character. It was disconcerting to realize that he had no idea in what direction the show was headed. He had a convention appearance in a couple weeks and he wondered what he could possibly tell the fans.

At the end of his reading, he flipped the script over so that he saw only the blank back page, and he increased the treadmill’s speed until he reached a comfortable jog. Then he focused on a spot on the wall and started going through his lines, mouthing the words, pausing as he thought through the others’ lines of dialogue. It was good, relaxing, and the aches of his body faded away as the endorphins kicked in from the exercise.

He was jolted out of his trance by the loud banging of the door, and he stumbled. He caught himself on the support bars and his flailing arm fortunately hit the machine’s large red stop bar. _Huh. The annoying stop bars can be useful – who knew?_

Righting himself, Jensen glared at the new arrivals. He expected to be confronted by rowdy children, excited at exploring the hotel while their parents were distracted, and instead his eyes widened at the very not-childlike size of the man in the doorway. _Woah, dude’s taller than me_ , he thought. The other man, whom Jensen’s eye had sped past, to stare at the giant behind him, hadn’t stopped talking since he entered the room in front of the big guy.

“. . .And I was all ‘hey baby, I’ll see you tonight for my turn-down service’. . .” Jensen didn’t have to see the guy to hear the leer in his voice. “. . .and she was like, playing hard-to-get—and really, why bother with that crap?— anyway, I gave her this awesome tip, and she’s going to come back tonight to turn down my bed. Did I say she was a redhead? Yeeeah! Took me like seconds. Seconds! So, I mean, Kenzie who? Right?! I can get that anywhere, right? So, should I get her to go down first or turn over . . . ?”

Jensen tuned out the asshole, and tried to remember which of the staff had red hair. _Jacinthe, shit!_ They must be on his floor or the one below. The relatively new girl who worked his floor hadn’t yet said two words together to Jensen without turning beet-red; she had this whole starry-eyed thing going. No way were these two assholes going to mess with her. He’d talk to housekeeping on his way back.

Jensen turned up his music until it drowned the overly-loud voices. The short loudmouth with blond spiked hair, and his too-tall muscle-bound friend walked around the room, and they cast an occasional glance at Jensen as they commented on the hotel’s workout room. Jensen surreptitiously watched them, pretending to concentrate on his script. Jensen could admit, objectively, that both were good-looking guys. The tall floppy-haired man had a killer smile that lit up his eyes, and Jensen thought he’d do well as a fitness model.

The two stopped near the chest-press machine, and Too-Tall started gesticulated again. Curious, despite himself, Jensen lowered the volume, just enough to listen to Too-Tall blather on about the inadequacy of press machines and extol the virtues of free weight (something about planes of resistance). The short loudmouth went on about how real men did things, and Too-Tall nodded. Jensen dismissed them both. He turned the music back up and opened his script again.

A few minutes later, a shadow distracted him. Too-Tall had walked directly in front of Jensen’s treadmill, then had turned to chat with his friend. Light reflected off his muscular back and broad shoulders—Jensen hadn’t noticed him remove his shirt. Jensen watched the play of muscles as the man stretched his arms above his head. It was almost a pose.

Jensen gave an imperceptible shake of his head and he paused in his running to check his pulse. He stared at the clock on the left to keep time. Reasonable, he thought, time for the cool down. As he began to program his preferences, he froze. Shit! It was his mom’s birthday, and he’d almost forgotten. He chewed his lip as he did a quick calculation of the time difference. His momma would still be up, but he had to go call, right now. He banged on the stop bar (Hey, twice in one day!) and hopped down. Jensen’s legs did a little wobble as if just now being reminded of this gravity-thing. He saw the tall guy’s mouth move as the man looked at him. Jensen figured he was still blathering on to his friend, so he ignored him and brushed past the man to grab his towel. With one hand, he wiped his face and with the other he thumbed off the I-pod and tugged out the earphones.

“Jerk,” Jensen heard someone mutter, and turned to see the tall guy glaring at him, with downturned eyebrows, as if hurt.

“Good riddance, douche-bag,” another voice called from behind him, and he turned to look back at the shorter man, who now seemed all puffed up, as if looking for a fight.

“Oh fuck off, asshole,” Jensen told him, not knowing what his problem could be and in too much of a rush to bother finding out. He’d run into all kinds of people in his time here, and while the vast majority were generally nice, there were always a couple bad apples.

On the way by, he stopped to talk to the head of housekeeping to warn her about the assholes that were going to harass Jacinthe.

“Oh, don’t you worry, honey.” The head housekeeper smiled at him. “I’ll have her and Larissa change floors tonight. Larissa’ll put him in his place if he tries anything.” And she would, Jensen knew. Larissa, while not much older than Jacinthe, had the unfortunate build of a linebacker and took no shit from anyone. Jensen rather liked her. Asshole and Too-tall wouldn’t know what hit them.

His parents hadn’t gone to bed yet when he phoned and he smiled wistfully at the sound of his family in the background as he wished his mother a happy birthday.

* * *

The people in the room next to his were loud, with music blaring and shouted exclamations late into the night. Jensen thought that the hotel was taking its time in responding to his complaint, but finally, after a loudly groaning, sulky, ‘awwwww’ and some rapid juvenile pounding against his wall, everything had quieted.

Jensen fell asleep, only to be woken up by moans and thumping against his wall. He heard what he thought was definitely more than one female voice coming from the suite next door. Jensen sighed and hid his head under the pillow. The good thing about living in a hotel was that inconsiderate neighbours never stayed more than a couple days.

The next morning, Jensen carefully opened the door and slipped out into the hall. He padded over, with a slight limp from where he’d stubbed his toe, to the ice machine and filled the little hotel bucket. His knuckles throbbed and the pain was increasing by the minute. He stuck his hand into the ice bucket before he had even made it back to his room. God, he hoped it wasn’t broken. He might never be able to show his face on set again if he didn’t come up with a good story. “I was going to make eggs on my hotplate and thought about how Dean likes to flip guns and knives and I flipped a small frying pan, just to see if I could,” would not cut it. He felt like an idiot, and was really glad no one had witnessed this gem of buffoonery.

He had the halls to himself—a good thing seeing as he was only wearing old boxers and a housecoat (“ _Robe_ ,” his ex-wife had corrected, “it’s more elegant if you call it a robe, and really, you would look _sooo_ yummy in black satin. Pleease.”). His locked door posed a problem. While he did have the keycard (that was a mistake he only made once), it took a few moments to juggle everything. Finally, with the ice bucket precariously pinned between his left elbow and thigh, and his injured right hand still ensconced in the ice, he was able to reach around with his left hand into his right pocket and retrieve the card. During this single-person game of Twister, the door next to his opened, and a woman emerged. Jensen couldn’t help looking over to get a peek at whoever’d been having the wild party last night.

The woman ran her fingers though her disheveled black curls. She adjusted her blouse and looked down at herself critically then she sent a toothy smile back beyond the doorway.

“Thanks, Jared. I had a blast. If you’re going to be around this week, give me a call, okay? But, maybe this time something without Chad around. I left you my work number.”

“Yeah, sounds awesome. And sorry about . . .” The voice trailed off and Jensen saw the tip of an arm wave, Jensen recognized that voice: Too-Tall from the gym, whose name, apparently, was Jared.

“And I promise not to fall asleep this time. And don’t take it the wrong way—I really enjoyed it—it was just a horribly long day.” Jensen withheld a smile at the thought of how lousy the guy would have to be to have a hooker fall asleep on him. Maybe she wasn’t a hooker, call girl, lady of the night—whatever. Jensen didn’t really care.

“Karen, it’s fine. You’ll just have to make it up to me next time.” Jared’s voice could barely be heard.

“It’s a date.” The woman, Karen, beamed. And there were those teeth again, prominent against the bright red lipstick. Jensen wondered if teeth could be considered too white. He tried not to stare, and blushed as he remembered the noises that kept him up last night. It hadn’t sounded like she’d fallen asleep. Jensen breathed a sigh of relief as the light on his door finally flashed green after several swipes of his keycard, and he turned the handle to open the door. The catch of the door opening made Karen turn; her eyes widened and her lingering smile became less toothy, more suggestive. Jensen belatedly realized that the sash of his robe had fallen open— _damn Sabrina’s satin piece of crap!_ —and he was allowing her to see far more of himself than he’d intended. He decided that as soon as possible he’d grab some newer boxer briefs and these ones, with large gaping holes at important seams, would be buried at the bottom of the nearest landfill. When Jared’s head peered around the door and their eyes met, Jensen discovered he was wrong: increased blushing was indeed possible. He bolted inside.

Thankful for his late call, Jensen gave up on his attempted breakfast and went downstairs. He could move his hand now, and knew that it wasn’t broken.

The dining room was busy with breakfast patrons, but not so busy that he couldn’t find a table. He was fortunate to get a recently-vacated table by the windows, and he watched the greenery outside as the busboy cleared off his table and one of the wait staff expertly set his place. The window overlooked a trail that was popular with runners, and with the sun shining past the ever-present clouds, it would have been a great day for a jog if he hadn’t needed to get to work.

He felt somewhat silly sitting in the dining room with his sunglasses on, but it did make it him harder to recognize. Octocobra, despite being a hit for the network and having a decent fan following, ultimately wasn’t as well known as many of the other television series out there. There had, however, been the occasional embarrassing incident with fans.

Jensen knew how critical the fans were to Octocobra’s continued renewal, but after playing Dean all week, sometimes for thirteen hours a day, he didn’t want to have Dean steal his free time too. He prided himself on giving the fans a great moment to remember, when they recognised him (and were polite about it) but it always increased his stress levels, and he opted more and more to don a half-hearted disguise. It would never pass close scrutiny, but might prevent at least a bit of the attention. He was grateful to the character and to the show, but there was more to Jensen Ackles than the one role he was most known for.

A quiet “ahem” made Jensen look up and he gave the waiter his order. While waiting, he unrolled the pages of the next episode and started going over it for the umpteenth time, mouthing the words silently and adding in facial expressions. He noticed absently some movement behind him as the hostess led a customer to the table behind him. Frowning at the pages in front of him, he tried to figure out how to make the dialogue sound believable, and he raised his hand to signal for more coffee.

“Decaf?” the waiter asked. The guy was far too chipper to be working in the morning.

“Oh, god no,” Jensen shuddered. “And feel free to toss in an extra helping of caffeine.” The waiter smiled and began to fill his cup.

“Hoo-ah!” The shout came complete with a fist bump in the air as Asshole strutted into the restaurant. It startled the waiter, who jumped, and the movement splashed Jensen with coffee. Jensen sprung up as he pushed away from the table, and his hands pulled the now- steaming shirt away from his skin. Jensen’s chair was sent careening backwards into the face of the person behind him who had turned around at Jensen’s yelp. The man rocked backwards, clutching his nose.

“Aah, fuck!” the guy yelled, voice muffled. “What the hell!”

“Goddamn . . .” Jensen’s curses trailed off into inaudible grumbling as he patted at his shirt with napkins. It didn’t seem to have burned him too badly, but his reddened skin was extra sensitive. He turned to help the man behind him, and realized that it was Jared, his tall, well-built, inconsiderate—and thankfully temporary—neighbour.

“Shit! Sorry, man,” Jensen winced in sympathy and offered a handful of napkins. The guy waved him off irritably.

“No, no, just . . . Leave it . . . I’m good,” Jared said through gritted teeth, holding his nose and wiping at his leaking eyes.

“What the fuck is your problem, fucker!” Asshole was now striding up to Jensen, getting in his personal space, and getting between him and Jared.

“What? I don’t have a . . . Get out of my way.” Jensen craned around Asshole to see if Jared was alright. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get you. Just got coffee everywhere. . .” Jensen trailed off, waving at his own stained button-down. The fabric, a modest light blue (not pink striped like the other man’s), had cooled and formed a cold wet spot in the center of his chest.

“I said it was fine.” Jared’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Just let it go.” He turned to his friend. “Chad, you too. Let it go.” Asshole—Chad—puffed up, not backing down and Jensen readied himself for an escalation. The waiter picked that moment to return with a towel and with quick nervous arm motions, began to wipe at Jensen’s shirt. Jensen gently put a restraining hand on the waiter’s arm. “I’m fine,” Jensen said, “But maybe this guy needs some ice or something.”

“Oh for the love of— I’m FINE!” Jared yelled at him. Jensen blinked and stared. Jared had removed the hand from his nose and he pursed his mouth from side to side as he tried to wiggle his nose. It was cute.

“Don’t look at my boy!” Chad still wanted his fight, and if he continued, Jensen would oblige him. His agent was a firm believer that any publicity was good publicity. The man had been delighted by the media circus around Jensen after the breakup with his ex. He’d like Chad.

Finally, the Chad settled down and he and Jared wandered over to the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, with Chad occasionally turning to shoot glares at Jensen. Whatever. The waiter led him to another table to eat, located a little further away from the two men. Jensen would have preferred a location further still but the dining room was filling with the stragglers who just made the breakfast cut-off time.

Jensen took a deep breath and took out his rumpled pages again. He rubbed a bit too hard at the coffee-stained corner and tore the topmost page. He really should have just slept in instead of going over lines—his friends had warned him about his perfectionist tendencies and the stress he created for himself.

Chad and Jared sat too close for Jensen to avoid hearing their conversation. He tried to concentrate on his work, but in spite of his a much-touted ability to maintain a narrow focus, something about Jared’s voice cut through his attempts to mind his own business.

“So I say come in, and she walk in and sheesh, man, not the girl from before,” Chad said. “Holy crap, built like fuckin’ defensive tackle, and looked at me like I was dog shit stuck on her shoe! I had romantic candles out and everything, and she started spouting off something about fire codes. Fuck. So anyway, went to a strip joint instead. Where the hell were you, you dog?”

“Nowhere really, Karen and I went out for a bit then came back to the room to watch movies and catch up. ‘Til you got back.”

“Catch up. That what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Shut up. Gross. She’s not. . .”

“Your girl's not jealous that her fiancé is out with other women?” _Fiancé? The guy having wild orgies was engaged?!_ Jensen only noticed how angry he’d gotten when he felt the pain of the fork tine he had clenched. He concentrated on taking deep, steadying breaths, as he’d been coached, closed his eyes, and tried to separate himself and his memories from the present situation that had nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with him. A situation he had no stake in.

“You’re deranged, man,” Jared said, obviously unaware how close Jensen had been to causing a greater scene than the spilled coffee incident.

“Anyway, enough about your sex life,” Chad interrupted. “Boring shit. Let’s talk about mine.” In a forced calm, Jensen picked up anything portable that remained of his breakfast, and left. His room would be billed, and Jensen was thankful for small mercies. Hopefully those two would be gone soon. The convention would be stressful enough without losing any more sleep.

* * *

## The Vancouver Convention

The Vancouver Octocobra Convention might not boast the sightseeing excitement of Europe, Australia, or South America, and it didn’t bring the comfortable homecoming feel of conventions in Texas or L.A., but it meant zero travel time. Jensen greatly appreciated that.

The influx of fans to his place of residence left Jensen with mixed feelings. In addition to disrupting an already tight schedule, it made him a temporary recluse. With throngs of smiling, happy, excited and—holy fuck!— _loud_ women (many men, but primarily women, a surprising number of whom were his mom’s age) wandering the hotel corridors, Jensen dared not venture out. As far as he knew, no one knew exactly where he lived, and security had put the fear of litigation into every employee in the building. Still, he would not put it past the fans to locate the information somehow.

Extra security had been hired to screen anyone who came onto the floor and gently redirect lost fans to another area of the hotel. Next year he would make sure he stayed in a different hotel that weekend.

The large reception room buzzed. In the bright overhead lights, the reception room was three-quarters filled with people, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder and holding their goodie-bags on their lap or between their feet. Some fans were still making their way to a seat, and the few who had brought an umbrella with them due to the scattered showers, strove not to poke the people around them as they settled their belongings. There was even an occasional underage fan, though they were few and far between; the show attracted a slightly more mature audience.

His best friend, Chris, had told him, the last time they spoke, that Jensen wasn’t using the conventions to their full potential: as places to vet potential bedmates. Jensen was pretty sure that it had been a joke, but Chris did frequently lament Jensen’s non-existent sex life in the wake of his marriage disaster, so he might have been serious.

Hearing the tail end of his introduction, Jensen put on his game face and stepped out onto the stage. The roar was deafening and he was blinded by the constant stream of bright white flashes. The flashes temporarily obscured the sea of little red dots, and he knew that the organizers would be hard-pressed to stop all the video recording. When the initial volley of flashes had subsided, he sat down, and waited for his vision to clear. From past experience, he knew that flashes would ambush him at unexpected moments, often as he stared directly at them. In his more stressed-out moments, they reminded him of tiny hunters waiting for their prey to make a fatal mistake. He smiled—oops, there went more flashes.

After the first few conventions, Sterling had realized how worked up Jensen got before the panels and never made him face them alone. He always scheduled a surprise panel ‘crash’ to take some of the pressure off. The fans loved it, and Jensen appreciated the backup. He would never admit to anyone how terrifying a roomful of women could be.

Sabrina had hated the conventions: roomfuls of adoring people, telling him how amazing he was and how much they would pay to lick his collarbone. Okay, that was just the one fan, and Jensen acknowledged his mistake in telling that story, but Sabrina had painted all the fans with the same brush. It made her a bit possessive, which was ironic given how things had ultimately turned out. The possessiveness had been one of the reasons he’d proposed; he’d wanted her to realize that she had nothing to fear from the competition. It turned out that it was him who should have worried.

After his introduction and the screaming welcome, Jensen took a calm sip of his glass of water until the noise died down, then he brought the microphone to his lips.

“Hey guys! So how do you like Season 3 so far?” The roar made him smile—whoa, flashes!—and he continued. “What did you guys think about the episode that just aired? Pretty great, hmm? How many of you saw it? Awesome! And the rest of you—,” he widened his eyes and arched his brows, dropped his shoulders and turned up his hands: the classic what-the-hell look. Laughs, hoots and hollers. These were easy crowds to please.

The range of questions went from trivia, such as the reasons for a casual gesture in an episode that he barely remembered, to personal questions that tried to get him to imply a sexual relationship with cast-mates on deserted islands. Over the last couple year he had improved a lot at deflecting problematic questions, and thankfully, at his request, he now often had backup in the room, in the form of maybe a writer, or technical person: someone with a better mind for all the fiddly details that Jensen never remembered.

* * *

“Uh. Um, hi Jensen, I’m Tammy. ”

“Hi Tammy,” Jensen said. He’d been at this for almost twenty minutes and the lines snaking around both sides of the hall were not noticeably shorter.

“Hi, I kind of have two questions.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Well, first I wanted to say how much I liked the monster hunters in Season 2 . . . and I was wondering if John Winchester was going to come back.”

“He was awesome wasn’t he?” Much shouting. “I’d love to have him back on set. Can’t say for sure—that’s a question for Eric—but I’d be surprised not to see him back,” Jensen continued. When the noise died down, Jensen gave them a brilliant smile and squinted against another volley of flashes. “I have some trivia for you ‘bout that. Do any of you know where Eric got that storyline from? Yes? No? There was this other pilot I did, Supernatural. Yeah, I don’t imagine many of you know about it; I don’t think it ever aired. But the whole thing was about these brothers on a road trip who went around hunting monsters. And it didn’t work out as a show, but the idea fit pretty well with Octocobra, so yeah, he borrowed quite a few things from that show. Stories, character names. One of the characters had been called Dean.”

“No,” he said, in response to the loudest of the shouted question from the floor. “My character was called Sam. But Jeff had been cast to play my father, and guess what his character’s name was? John Winchester. Yep, Eric based Octocobra’s John Winchester on that other guy. But in that John had been a good guy, and here Eric flipped it around and made him the bad guy.”

“He’s a great bad guy.” Tammy still had the microphone. Jensen tipped his head toward her.

“That he is. He said he might show up, so keep a look out. So, second question?”

“Yes. Is Bobby Singer going to come back? I mean, did he really die, or was that, like, fake, for witness protection or something.”

“Um, witness protection?” Jensen asked, puzzled at the question, and the woman shrugged. “No,” he continued, “as far as I know, he died saving Dean. Okay, to my left. Do you have a question?”

Jensen could tell, just by the way the next fan held herself, that he wouldn’t like the question. Chin thrust forward, shoulders back, she absently flipped back the neon purple strands of hair that had drifted into her face. Looking disconcertingly like his mom, she carried a Dean sports bottle in her hand and proudly sported a Walker t-shirt. One of the die-hards, he expected.

“Hi Jensen, I was, ahem, wondering about Dean and his women.”

“Okaaay.” He had to be cautious now.

“Well with Dean’s umm, you know, tentacles, will he ever be with more than one woman?” Ah, the fangirls often tried to rope him into saying something about sex.

“I think probably not. You’ll have to talk to the writers.” Always blame the writers.

“But . . . you know the character so well, after playing him for three years, do you think Dean has ever tried it, like threesomes or more . . .”

“I, um . . . no. I don’t think so. Season 1 was all about how paranoid he was about keeping it hidden, so no, I don’t think he would trust anyone enough to let them know about his ability.” There: answered plausibly, without implicating him or his character in anything that would be repeated ad nauseam online.

“Well . . .“ the young lady continued “. . . Misha had a different answer.” He would, the bastard. Jensen smiled ruefully. He’d have to get him back somehow; Misha knew he was uncomfortable answering these kinds of questions.

“Misha . . . okay, do I really want to know?” A mix of yes and nos came thundering up from the audience, but apparently the woman with the microphone wasn’t about to ask his permission, so she continued. “Misha said that Dean probably went through an experimental phase since he got the tentacles right when he hit puberty and it forced him to be stuck in a latent sexual development phase, which is why he is so emotionally unavailable to all the women on the show, unlike Detective Castiel.” _Misha, you ass_.

Jensen simply nodded, then after a short period of uncomfortable silence, he addressed the fan with a raised eyebrow. “There was no question in there.”

“Oh, um, well, what do you think about that?”

“Well, I think Misha if full of sh – hot air,” he caught himself, just in case there were children around. His answer and facial expressions brought the expected rush of clapping and laughter. He breathed easier as the lady made her way back to her seat.

“Okay, next question.”

* * *

## Episode 3.03, Hired Gun

“Padalecki,” was the first thing Jensen heard on Monday morning as he opened the door of the SUV. Cliff had already picked up Misha, who’d been having car troubles. Stirling sometimes caught a ride with them, but today his wife was driving him to set.

Jensen’s head weighed about the equivalent of the SUV, and he rubbed at his eyes again. He had thought his noisy neighbours would have moved on by now, or maybe taken a break every now and then from all the sex. At least tonight should be better; he had seen Chad with a suitcase in the lobby, so they must be leaving today.

“Huh?” Jensen stared blearily at his friend, trying to remember if he had left the ‘laundry service requested’ door hanger outside his door. The white laundry bag from that hotel service was full. He fastened his seatbelt, holding tight to his large travel mug filled with life-sustaining coffee. It was morning, and Misha was a morning person.

“Padalecki,” repeated Misha. “The guy’s name. Talked to Eric last night.”

“Guy . . .Eric . . .what?” Jensen let out a breathy sigh of pleasure at his first sip. Misha didn’t drink coffee, opting for grapefruit juice in the morning, and Jensen really couldn’t remember why he liked the other man.

“Jared Padalecki,” repeated Misha, smiling slightly, with his usual Jensen-is-a-very-small-child tone. “Your knight in shining armour.”

“Pa-dla. . .” Jensen trailed off; that was a really long string of syllables for morning.

“da-le-cki,” Misha corrected, in the same tone. “Or something like that.” Jensen hated him, just a little.

“Where’d the writers come up with that name?” Jensen wondered after a pause. “Think they’re bored and just picked letters from a hat?”

Misha looked at him, puzzled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Palalucki . . . the new character.”

“Nah, man, that’s the actor. The character is . . .umm . . . oh yeah. Sam. Sam Wesson, I think. Maybe? Kripke wasn’t too clear.” _Sam! And with a gun last name!?_ That was his character! Granted, that show never aired, but still, out of all the names to choose from, Kripke should have been able to come up with something new. Like Tom. Tom Wesson had a nice ring to it.

“What about Tom?” Jensen asked.

“Who’s Tom?” Misha asked.

“Sam.”

“What?” Misha was looking very confused now. His face was all scrunched up and he squinted at Jensen. Fans seemed to think a confused Misha was cute, but Jensen thought he just seemed funny-looking. And who were they talking about, anyway?

“Who’s playing Sam?” Jensen asked. His Sam.

“Not Tom,” Misha said, and Jensen huffed an annoyed sigh.“Jared. Jared Pa-da-le-cki.”

“Oh.” _Whatever. More coffee._

“I heard that Eric remembered him from something else he auditioned for and offered him this role. He should be on set today.”

“Okay,” Jensen replied, distracted. _Maybe craft services would have those cherry-cheese Danishes again. A Danish with his coffee would be really awesome._

* * *

“Why can’t I swim? I have eight fucking arms!” Jensen scowled at next week’s pages. He looked at Sterling. “Why am I the one always ending up in the water?”

Sterling smirked. “Cause, Jen, the fans want to see you shirtless. And Sera wrote it.” Jensen didn’t dignify that with an answer.

Sterling had met Jared Padalecki a few days ago at the read-through for 3.03, the episode that would introduce Sam Wesson, while Jensen reshot part of 3.02 with Genevieve to incorporate some new changes. By the time Jensen had finished, Padalecki had been whisked away by wardrobe. Since their characters didn’t actually have a scene together until the next episode, and with the current schedule, the actors probably wouldn’t meet up until the read-through.

Jensen and Sterling worked with their stunt choreographer that afternoon on parts of the 3.03 fight scene that wouldn’t be done with stunt doubles. No matter how carefully and safely those kinds of stunts were designed, after the fifth time he was slammed through a wall, he was wiped, his body ached, and he just wanted to go home and crash. The episode was physically demanding, and in a couple days he would be in the water for most of the day. He hoped, fervently, to have a decent night’s sleep.

No such luck.

Jensen suppressed a yawn the next afternoon as he made his way to Sterling’s trailer. His side ached despite the long soak he took last night.

“So how is the new guy? Didn’t get to see him today. He run screaming after seeing you? Ouch!” Jensen rubbed at his shoulder. Sterling’s half-hearted punch landed over what felt like layered bruises from yesterday afternoon’s wall crashing.

“Fucker,” Sterling muttered with a sigh. “Ugh, what a day.” He slid down beside Jensen on the couch in his trailer.

“Shit, man, is he that bad?”

“Huh? Oh, no! No, Jared’s great actually. Just been a long day. Think I’m coming down with that cold the kids had.”

“Oh, okay. So what’s the new guy like? I had tentacle shoots all day. Aaagh,” Jensen said as he stretched again, “it’s nice to be out of that contraption.”

“He seems like a good guy. Knows his lines, likes to talk, friendly. You’ll like him. He’s not a Hollywood type, except for the weird scarves.”

Jensen waited for more but Sterling’s drink arrived, brought by a harried PA, whose quick rat-a-tat on the trailer door had been barely heard. Before she left, Sterling finished the large glass and asked for another.

“What’s your poison?” Jensen asked with an arched eyebrow. After a rough fight with alcohol a few years ago, Sterling rarely touched the stuff anymore.

“Relax, Jensen, it’s just orange juice, vodka-free. For that cold that’s starting. And I don’t think I’ll stick around tonight, man, I’m exhausted. Haven’t been spending enough time with the family.”

“Okay. You don’t look so hot.”

“Liar! I always look hot.” Sterling’s voice fell flat though, and Jensen could tell that his friend was worn out.

## Episode 3.04, In The Water

It wasn’t unusual for Jensen not to meet a guest star before his scenes with them. It was unusual for him not to meet someone who would play a large role, but their schedules hadn’t meshed, and, while Misha had pointed him out in the distance one time, Jensen still had not managed to meet Padalecki. Jensen had expected to meet him at the read-through but there had been some paperwork problem so he’d had to spend the morning fixing it. Jensen only hoped that Padalecki would know his stuff so they didn’t have to freeze longer than necessary. They were going to be at the same location they had used in the first season, for a fight that ended up with him freezing his ass off in the lake for numerous retakes.

Sterling had gone on and on about how great the guy was, if criminally tall, and Jensen was relieved. It looked like this character would be around for a few episodes, and Jensen didn’t want to work every day with someone he didn’t like. Not that he wouldn’t be professional, whatever the case, but it would be nice to relax a bit and shoot the shit during the long waits between scenes.

The water was cold, as Jensen expected. Luckily the clouds had retreated and the sun was back in full force. It helped a bit, and he knew, from his past experience at this particular lake, that so long as he had time to warm up between takes, he’d be fine.

“Hey, Jensen,” Sterling called to him over from where he stood on the dock, talking to a tall, somewhat familiar, floppy-haired man. “Come meet Jared!” Ah, the guest actor. “Jensen’s amazing to work with,” Sterling continued, talking to the man beside him, and his voice carried in the weird morning echo by the water, “you’ll love him.” As Jensen walked closer, the man turned around, and both of them froze. No, no, no, the universe wouldn’t do this to him!

“No. Sterling, please tell me you’re joking,” Jensen said, and glared at his cheating, orgy-hosting, obnoxious next-door neighbour who looked on him with a put-upon sigh.

“Yeah,” the guy muttered, “this should be fun.” Jensen clenched his teeth and said nothing, beginning a backwards count from a hundred.

* * *

Jensen slipped into the water with a shuddering breath. Damn, it was cold. The camera crews were already dispersed to maximize the number of shots possible in the fewest takes. There was a crew on the shore, and two in wide flat bottomed skiffs on the water, one with the usual portable equipment and one with a team of divers geared up for underwater shots. He would get a warmed blanket and hot beverage between takes. His chest and shoulders needed to be visible since a previous episode established that Dean’s shirt had been removed to facilitate his torture, but at least a wetsuit covered Jensen from the waist down.

From the water, Jensen looked up at Padalecki, who was getting some last minute tips on a standard cross chest carry from their consultant swim coach.

“You’re a non-swimmer,” the consultant had told Jensen earlier. Jensen had nodded, unclear what point the woman was trying to make. “So no splashing around.”

“Huh?”

“Dean can’t swim at all, that means very little splashing.”

“All right. How should I do it?”

“Just pretend you’re climbing a ladder. Let yourself go under. Dean doesn’t have the first idea of what kind of movements will keep him afloat, it’s not something he’s ever done, so none of his flailing will be useful. Plus he’s panicking and not thinking clearly. And hasn’t he been shot? So he’ll be weak, right?”

“Sure.” Jensen had looked off into the distance and re-visualized the action given the new directions until it was time to get in the water.

“ACTION.” Jensen took a breath and let his head slip under the water. He made his hands make tiny, ineffective splashes, and moved his arms and legs in a climbing motion. He felt himself drift further down. As he reached the end of his oxygen, he gave a couple quick kicks to bring him back to the surface to get another breath, and almost collided with Padalecki who had finally arrived and was supposed to fish him out.

“CUT. Good, Jensen. This time, wait until after Jared starts so that you are still under when he gets to you. Let’s go again. You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jensen called out. The director probably couldn’t hear the words but understood Jensen’s head motions. Jensen held onto the side of the boat as Padalecki began swimming back to the dock where he needed to dive. Jensen shivered in the cold water, knowing that he could get out and get warmed up, but that it would prolong the shoot. At the moment he was doing okay.

“ACTION!”

As Padalecki hit the water, Jensen took another breath and let himself sink. There had been no corrections made to his drowning technique, so he did it exactly the same. His lungs were starting to burn when a strong arm grabbed him across the chest and hauled him upwards. Jensen added his own kicks to help reach the surface faster. Jensen took in great gulping breaths as soon as his head cleared the water.

He probably shouldn’t have antagonized Padalecki until after this shoot, he thought belatedly, as Padalecki’s knee caught him in the ribs. It wasn’t hard enough that Jensen could accuse him of doing it deliberately. That type of stuff could happen in close quarters, Jensen knew. The blow forced a bit of air out of his lungs and he inhaled a mouthful of water, coughing and sputtering. No one stopped the action, and Jensen figured that it melded well with the almost-drowning.

Silently following the shouted directions from the boat near them, Padalecki positioned his arm so that it came over Jensen’s right shoulder to beneath Jensen’s left arm, pulling Jensen snug against his body. Padalecki’s arm was warm against his bare chest, and the warmth of the hard body behind him made the surrounding water seem that much colder. He shivered, and Padalecki held tighter.

As Padalecki began rhythmic scissor kicks to carry them both back to shore, with cameras tightly focussed on both their faces, Jensen found himself thinking that, from the play of hard muscles against his back and the churning water from the powerful kicks just beneath him, the man’s weight routine had paid off. Soon Padalecki’s panting breath blew against the top of his head. Jensen felt a tingling in his gut, and lower, and his whole body tensed as he realized that had it not been for the temperature of the water, he might very well be sporting a hard-on. Chris had been right; he really needed to get laid.

Jensen was startled by the accidental brush of Padalecki’s groin against his ass. Whoah! The man’s package was right there, and that just wasn’t right. Jensen pushed aside his thoughts and distracted himself by wondering what Padalecki had eaten recently; through the pleasant, slightly musty smell of lake water, Jensen thought he smelled chocolate nougat. Jensen was jarred when Padalecki hit the edge of the dock.

“CUT.” Padalecki’s immediate and unexpected release sent Jensen underwater and he came up sputtering, again. Padalecki had turned away from him, but not quick enough for Jensen to miss the quirk of his smile. Freakin’ asshole!

“Sorry,” Padalecki said, but Jensen thought he didn’t seem sorry at all.

“Okay, take fifteen to warm up and then we’ll do it again from the tow. And guys, try to say your lines this time.”

* * *

That night, alone, asleep, Jensen’s breath hitched as he shifted restlessly on his bed.

_He felt Sam’s breath ghosting over the back of his neck, and he shivered. Sam’s arms caressed his shoulders, arms, thighs. The wall of Sam’s chest offered warmth, support, and a previously unknown sense of security._

_“Dean, I want this,” Sam whispered against Jensen’s ear. Jensen looked around, but no one else was there. And goddamn if he wasn’t rock hard, his jeans painfully constraining. “Oh, Dean!” Sam said again._

_“You don’t,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You can’t. . . you don’t know. I’m . . .”_

_“I was there. I know who you are Dean, and I want this.” Sam’s quiet words, certain and strong, broke through the last of Jensen’s defenses, and he could no longer deny himself what he’d wanted so long. He managed a whisper._

_“Yes. Yes, okay. Please,” the last word was nearly a sob, as he spun around and pulled Sam’s mouth to his. It was hard and frantic, and Sam seemed startled by the magnitude of Jensen’s desperation..._

_Jensen felt Sam everywhere: hands, legs, body. The scent of Sam was in every breath, and the taste of Sam filled his mouth as he kissed down the underside of the man’s jaw. Sam’s hands fumbled at his groin, making him whimper and then exhale sharply as his cock was freed from the confines of his jeans. Sam moaned and Jensen’s underwear disappeared. Sam fumbled at his own pants while Jensen’s hands continued their exploration of his chest. Divested of clothing, both men writhed against each other, not able to get close enough. Jensen was stroking Sam’s length, and Sam’s hand on his cock was making his vision sparkle. He remembered to breath and the sparkles receded. Then Sam’s fingers quested behind his balls and the world stood still._

_Sam hesitated. “This okay?” he asked._

_Jensen’s breathy “gah unh” wasn’t good enough, and as Sam started withdrawing his hand, Jensen remembered to form words. “Yes yesyesyes,” he whispered, repeating it into the furnace of Sam’s mouth. Sam’s fingers . . . Time hiccupped and Jensen turned onto his stomach as Sam positioned himself . . ._

“Ahh!” Jensen sat up with a surprised yelp and there was a sudden thump on the wall by his head. He took great gulping breaths and tried to calm his heartbeat and shake off the dream. _Holy crap, what had_ that _been?!_ Then one more thump rattled the generic picture on the wall, he turned over and banged hard, three times in succession. There was no more noise.

“Fucker,” Jensen said with a glare at the wall, and his voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. His erection, an unwanted remnant of that friggin’ _gay_ dream about a character on his own show, hadn’t abated.

Sam. Jensen shifted uncomfortably, and let out a breath of relief as he fisted his erection. This would be quick. He thought of the women he’d been with, pictured them in various states of undress, in various compromising positions. The pressure felt good but something was missing. His release was there, just out of reach, and his hand moved faster. _Please. Almost! Muscles, sweat, piercing eyes, dimples,—huh?— cock, pressure, Jar. . ._ He came, unexpected and uncontrolled, hips stuttered into his fist, shoulders lifted off the bed.

He sagged back onto the mattress, dreading going into work in the morning. He didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

* * *

## Episode 3.07, Snake Charming

“Damn it!” Jensen glared at Jared as he wiped at the mayonnaise that Jared had accidentally dripped onto his shirt. Jared shouldn’t need to lean in so close in this shot, getting into Jensen’s (and Dean’s) personal space. “Never mind, Jensen,” came the call. “KEEP ‘EM ROLLING.”

* * *

Dean took a healthy bite of his burger and watched the street kids on the corner. They were laughing at something, waving their arms around wildly for emphasis.

“Hey,” said Sam, from the passenger seat, “what’s with you? You’ve been acting odd—well, odder—since we interviewed those kids who found the body.” Dean rolled his eyes in acknowledgement of Sam’s jibe.

“I’m fine Sam.” Dean continued to stare at the group, especially at one kid, the youngest, barely into his teens.

“Shitty way to grow up,” Sam said, following Dean’s gaze. “After finding their friend’s body, you’d think they’d be more freaked.”

“Not everyone has people to go to.” Dean’s clipped words startled Sam. “And they’re plenty freaked if you know where to look.” Dean squirmed under Sam’s stare.

“Quit staring!” he said, when it looked like Sam was content to study Dean indefinitely.

“You were like them,” Sam said slowly, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. Dean spun around in his seat to look at him.

“What? No,” Dean scoffed, and refused to meet Sam’s eyes.

“Shit, you were! See me: super brilliant detective—says so right here,” Sam pointed to his chest, and Dean knew he was pointing to the badge tucked away inside his jacket pocket. “You were a runaway?”

“Still am, I guess, since I never went back,” Dean muttered. Sam’s eyes widened and he hunched towards Dean projecting concern.

“Did they hurt you? Fuck, Dean, did you get those bastards put away?”

“No! Back off, Sam. My family was the best. It just . . . got complicated,” Dean said, and he shrugged. “So I took off.”

“Complicated,” Sam slowly repeated the one word.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t get it.” Sam shook his head to emphasize his point.

“No shit.” Dean balled up the wrapper of his burger and tossed it violently into the corner of the car. “Let’s go. There’s nothing here.”

Sam said nothing.

“CUT!”

* * *

Jared chased the kid playing young Dean around the set, waving an extra tentacle at him, trying to get it into his ear. It was one of the rubber tentacles, not the mechanical version, so Jensen figured that Grant would let Jared live. Pity.

Jensen looked over the director’s shoulder into the preview screen. This was one of Ben Edlund’s episodes and Jensen held high hopes that he would learn a lot: Ben liked to talk and didn’t stand on formalities. If Jensen wanted to know about something, Ben could go on for hours. He didn’t always speak in linear fashion, off on tangents only distantly related to the topic of discussion, and every second sentence seemed to be a private joke, but he knew his stuff, and Jensen hoped some of that might rub off.

“Action!” Ben called, and both he and Jensen stared into the little director’s screen.

Young Dean, sat with his back to the grimy wall, lit by soft yellow lights, giving the effect of sunlight through a dirty window in an otherwise dark room. He unwrapped his arms from around his knees and looked down at his chest. Slowly, he lifted his shirt to look at the scarring on his chest. The parallel rows of circular wounds were now mostly healed, but they had a strange folded texture. Dean frowned at one of the scars and adopted a pinched expression as he fixed the scar intently. As Dean concentrated, the end of the tentacle emerged, the same pale pink as the scar tissue. The tentacle emerged until it stood an arm’s length. It moved sinuously as Dean directed it, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead and trailing down to his chin, to wrap itself around a cup. Time and again, it knocked the cup over, until at last he was able to direct the tentacle to carry the cup about half-way when he lost his concentration and the appendage resumed its aimless waving. Dean started in surprise at seeing that the other tentacles had emerged about a finger’s length out of his chest. He sighed and reset the cup to try again.

“I need a name,” Dean said to the moving limbs. “For that fake ID. I can’t be me anymore. I killed those kids.” Tears fell. “I killed them and now they’ll put me in jail. Cobra. I’ll be Dean Cobra, SnakeMaster. Maybe not so much the Master part,” he muttered as he knocked the cup over again.

“CUT. Good. Let’s do it again,” Ben called out to the set, then he turned to his assistant. “Get Kripke on the phone. Tell him we have to change the dialogue in this part. It’s crap—oh, but don’t tell him like that.”

* * *

Another InterTV interview with star Jensen Ackles

_(InterTV Spoiler Alert for Octocobra episode 3.07! If you don’t want to know, don’t read.)_

_Int:_ Thanks for taking the time to talk to us Jensen.

 _JA:_ Anytime.

 _Int:_ A lot has happened since the last time we were here. I’m seeing a lot of kids on set, tell us what’s going on?

 _JA:_ We’re in the middle of the flashback episode. Snake Charming, I think they’re calling it.

 _Int:_ Dean as a kid?

 _JA:_ Yes.

 _Int:_ Did you help out with the actor playing young Dean?

 _JA:_ Yeah, I worked with him a lot on mannerisms and that type of stuff. But those kids are consummate pros; they put all the adults to shame.

 _Int:_ I watched you shooting that last scene. In it, we learn that your character named himself. Can you tell us a bit about that, and do you think he’ll ever find out where he comes from?

 _JA:_ Well, I mean, “Cobra,” that just sounds like something a thirteen-year-old kid would think was a cool name for himself, then be embarrassed about when he was older.

 _Int:_ And that’s why he insists that everyone call him by his first name. . .

 _JA:_ And everyone does except Sam Wesson. _*laughs*_. At least until Dean beats it out of him.

 _Int:_ There’s a lot of tension between these two characters, even though Sam saved Dean’s life.

 _JA:_ I think Dean’s missing memories play a part in that. Here’s this ridiculous stranger that everyone likes, who found him under strange circumstances and tells everyone this pat-and-dry story. And Dean can’t remember it. For someone who already has trust issues, well, that’s asking a lot.

 _Int:_ I see someone calling you.

 _JA:_ Alright, that’s my cue. Gotta go beat up Jared now.

 _Int:_ He’s bigger than you.

 _JA.:_ It’s not the size, it’s the skill.

 _Int:_ Thank you , Jensen.

 _JA:_ My pleasure.

* * *

Jensen slapped the ground hard, the reflex breakfall absorbing most of the impact from the throw. He gave a small nod of satisfaction to himself; those reflexes were the result of lots of practice.

“Got it?” Lou asked Jensen, giving him a hand up.

“Yeah,” Jensen told the stunt coordinator and brushed off dirt from his shirt. Lou had finished giving him an overview of today’s fight scene, and had included a hands-on demonstration.

“I went over it with Jared this morning while you were shooting,” Lou said. “I set him to work on it with Todd. Boy’s got enthusiasm, but no training. As soon as he gets here, we’ll go through it with the both of you. Director wants it shot at three.”

There was nothing especially difficult in the choreography, nothing that he and Sterling hadn’t done dozens of times, practicing on their own in down-time between shots. Jared hadn’t had a fight scene on Octocobra yet, and from the sound of things, he hadn’t done many at all, but Jensen saw no reason for concern. The moves were all pretty basic.

Walking with the two stuntmen up to where Jensen sat, Jared towelled his face. Jensen had seen the beads of sweat fall down the side of his face before Jared wiped them away.

“Hey Jen,” Jared said, and flashed his dimples.

“It’s Jensen.” He might put up with a nickname from long-time friends like Chris, or close friends like Sterling, but Jared definitely didn’t make the cut. They were spared any further conversation as everyone got to work.

“He’s got it down pretty well,” Todd told Lou, with a smile to Jared.

“Let me see it,” Lou ordered. Todd adopted a fighting stance, and he and Jared walked through the scene in slow motion.

“Good. That Thai kick isn’t convincing yet, but you can work on it paired with Jensen. Get in there; let’s see you both together.” Lou directed his last comments to Jensen while still keeping an appraising eye on Jared, who was picking himself up off the ground.

“The last take-down was a bit rough,” Lou told him. “Get that arm out faster for the breakfall or you’re going to be black and blue tomorrow.” Jared nodded, and let out a tired breath.

They went through the scene, slowly at first, accepting the minor corrections to technique, and duplicating it on the set with attention to the colored pieces of tape on the floor. Then they sped it up a bit. Once they had that down, Lou stopped them.

“Okay, not bad,” he said. “Bring it up to normal speed.” And then it went wrong.

Jared threw a series of punches that Jensen blocked, then a kick to the thigh to send Jensen to the ground. After that he should have backed up (giving the camera a nice clean shot) then stepped forward to throw a hard punch downward, just to the side of Jensen’s face, after which Jensen would snap his head back and collapse. Camera angles would make it all look real. But in the increased excitement of the full-speed action, Jared missed his mark, and his forward step placed him too far to the right, so that Jensen raised himself up directly into Jared’s downward punch.

Jensen heard voices above him, loud voices, but he couldn’t open his tearing eyes. His head pounded and his face throbbed, and any movement brought additional pain to his nose. Hands held his shoulders and prevented him from moving. Soon there was a cold compress and many arms helping him up to a chair. In a few minutes he was able to open his eyes, and he waved away the many people who kept talking to him, sending spikes of pain into his skull.

“I’m fine,” he said as he waved them off, but it came out muffled, and they ignored him, so he closed his eyes again to wish them away.

“It’s probably not broken,” someone said directly in front of him, and Jensen thought it sounded like the set medic. He opened his eyes to find his suspicions confirmed. “But we should get it x-rayed to be sure,” the woman continued.

“Jen! Jen, I’m so sorry!” Jared said. He did not want to talk to Jared so he glared up at the man. Jared stood awkwardly, out of the medic's way, and cradled his hand; Jensen hoped it had hurt—a lot.

“It’s JENSEN,” he said. Jensen jumped at the hand trying to remove his shirt. “Hey hey, what?”

“The blood,” said Alice, head of wardrobe, “We need to get it washed out of Dean’s shirt.” Only then did Jensen realize that the scarlet front of his shirt should have been white. Alice quickly divested him of clothing, and he could feel the sticky remains of blood slowly harden. It pulled uncomfortably at the light-colored hairs on his chest every time he moved. Despite the ice and the cloth held to his face, his nose stubbornly refused to stop bleeding, and throbbed with every heartbeat. Jensen heard Jared’s breath stutter and lifted his head to see Jared staring at his chest with wide eyes. Jensen figured he must be worse of a mess than he had thought. When Jared caught Jensen watching him, he tripped backwards, and crashed into a beach chair. The guy was a menace.

At the paramedic’s urging, Jensen slowly got up and was guided to the car get a full medical assessment.

* * *

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Jensen dismissed Jared, who sat in next makeup chair, as he concentrated on not moving his face. Lanie tried to be gentle as she smoothed covering creams over his bruised nose and around his black eyes.

The x-ray had shown no break, although he was told that a hairline fracture might not show up. Take it easy for a week or so, rest, no stunts, the doctor had told him. Eric had nodded and stared off into space, probably rearranging the schedule.

The swelling, which would decrease in a couple days, proved to be the biggest obstacle to the tight deadline. Dean could have injuries after the fight, but not before. Since Octocobra scenes were shot out of order, the script supervisor and directors scrambled to rework lighting, camera angles, and blocking of the earlier scenes to de-emphasize Dean’s face—a first for the show, Jensen thought somewhat bitterly. As this episode featured heavy Sam/Dean interaction, the solution was to switch many of the shots to Sam’s coverage. Jensen didn’t appreciate the irony, and while he understood the reasoning, it sucked just the same: a reward for damaging the show’s lead instead of the firing Jared deserved. And to rub in the salt, Eric declared, in no uncertain terms, that Jensen would no longer be doing any of his own stunts. If Dean needed to get a splinter, the stunt double would step in. It burned.

Eric had been relieved, amid the rest of the chaos, to discover that they had shot probably one of the most believable, visceral fight scenes yet. Fake blood performed adequately, but the real thing gave the shot a subtly more grounded feel. The camera shots did not quite mesh with the director’s initial vision of the scene, as they had only been running to test lighting and sound. The lights threw too many shadows into the actor’s faces, and the sound needed to be redone, but, given the complete re-blocking of most of the episode, no one cared.

* * *

When Jensen did workouts at night, Jared was there. When he tried to get some weights done in the morning, Jared was there. Jared never tried to speak to him anymore, and just went through his routine, but his simple presence messed up the workout routine that had served Jensen well for two years.

Jared was built. Sure he joked around, but he took workouts very seriously, and, though Jensen was a very diligent exerciser, Jared took it to a whole new level, one that Jensen couldn’t match. But he tried. He’d noted how much Jared lifted, and used it as a goal to work towards. Anytime he found a moment in the weight room alone, he went at it: many reps, increasing weight, until he could barely move his liquefied muscles.

After being sidelined, again, by his stunt double, and fed up with the ‘delicate princess Jensen’ jokes, Jensen took out his frustration in the mercifully Jared-free gym room. He increased his weight, setting the machine for ten pounds more than Jared lifted. He struggled, but the satisfaction of finally holding his arms straight under all that weight was worth it. His arms trembled and he doubted he had the ability to lower his arms without letting it all crash down.

Then Jared breezed through the door, saw Jensen, and stopped short. Jensen saw his eyes widen is disbelief as Jared took in how much Jensen was pressing.

Not wanting Jared to watch him commit a faux-pas by letting the weights crash down, Jensen locked his elbows to maintain the hold before Jared’s scrutiny. It was the wrong move. Jared’s gaze focussed on his elbows and his mouth thinned. He marched over to Jensen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jared demanded. “You never lock your joints like that! Here, let me hold it so you can . . .”

“Hey, I’m good,” Jensen lied. “Leave it.” Jensen hadn’t thought Jared’s eyebrows could climb any higher, but he held up his hands and backed away, never taking his eyes off Jensen.

Damn it, the man was right, and Jensen knew better. Stupid pride. Taking a deep breath, Jensen painfully unlocked his elbows. His already over-exerted muscles gave way and his left grip slipped. His left arm shot forward without the counterweight, and the handbar painfully struck the outside of his arm, not slowed at all by his one-handed attempt to slow the weight’s descent. The resulting crash of iron shook the floor. Jensen cradled his left arm with his right, and closed his eyes against the pain.

“You stupid fucking jerk,” Jared said, after he’d rushed to Jensen’s side and seen nothing more serious than a soon-to-be massive bruise. “If you’re not going to do this safely then you don’t belong here! At all. Asshole!” And Jared turned around and stomped out, leaving Jensen alone in the quiet room.

* * *

## Episode 3.08, Dinner and a movie

“Jensen!” From his chair beside the set, Sterling muffled his cell phone against his shoulder as he yelled over to where Jensen was getting his makeup touched up. The bruising had mostly faded, leaving only a yellowish tinge to the skin. “Michelle asks what do you want for supper tonight: meatloaf or lasagna?”

“Meat—”

“The meatloaf is made of soy.”

“—sagna.” Jensen flashed a big smile at Sterling, who gave him a knowing nod and thumbs-up as he put the phone to his ear to pass along Jensen’s request.

Sterling’s smile had been a fixture all day, and he’d rebuffed Jensen’s attempts to extract the reasons. His character’s big gay reveal had been postponed, switched with another episode, and Jensen had expected Sterling to be bummed, give how much work he had put into it. Apparently Jensen had been wrong. He frowned. He and Sterling knew each other pretty well, and he wasn’t often wrong about things like that. He decided he’d corner Sterling when they met in his trailer for lunch, in case it was sensitive and he didn’t want it getting out to the crew.

* * *

When lunch rolled around, Sterling was busy re-dubbing one of Walker's scenes, so Jensen had to wait a bit longer before getting to the bottom of his strange behavior.

“Jensen, do you have a minute?” Kripke stopped him as he was entering his trailer with a plateful of food. He’d taken to eating in there to avoid Jared and his hijinks. It was lunch, Jensen was hungry, and it had been a long morning; he only wanted to relax and think through the next scene, which wasn’t possible with the world’s most annoying person laughing, and telling jokes, and making a fool of himself. Why was Jensen the only one to understand this?

“Yeah, okay.” Why bother with the question, he wondered. It’s not as if he would ever tell his boss no.

“It’s about Dean.”

 _Duh! Seriously, what else would it be about?_ Jensen’s expression must have made clear his annoyance because Kripke quickly continued.

“We’ve been having a lot of talks about the chemistry between Jared and Sterling, and, well, it’s really not there.” _Hallelujah! Finally. Goodbye Jared._ Jensen tried to keep his happiness from showing; he’d be an asshole to be happy at a castmate’s job loss. _Sorry Jared, just taking things in a new direction._

“So,” Kripke continued, unaware of Jensen’s brightened spirits. Oh yeah, he was an _awesome_ actor. “. . .we’re going to take it in a new direction.” A hint of a smile did break through then. “And it’s going to work out well since Sterling has a job offer in LA that he’s spoken to me about and he was concerned about leaving the show so soon if his character comes out.”

“Uhh . . .wait. What?” No smile now.

“Well, Sterling wants to leave mid-season, so we’re going to be writing out his character. And since you and Jared have amazing onscreen chemistry, Jared’s going to be staying on to fill in for him and be Dean’s new partner.”

“I . . . Wha . . . shit!”

Kripke took a step back and his eyebrows shot up. “Something wrong, Jensen?”

“Uh . . . no. No. No, that’s fine.” Paycheck. Lead of a series. Suck it up. He was a professional and could work with anyone.

“I’m surprised Sterling is leaving, is all.”

“Didn’t he tell you? He said that you guys had talked about it.”

“Oh, yeah. We did. I just didn’t know he’d finally made up his mind. Oh, hey, what about Misha?” Jensen was running out of straws to grasp.

“Misha?”

“Well sure! Misha’s been with us for awhile as one of the precinct detectives. Makes more sense for him to be Dean’s partner, doesn’t it?”

“Misha’s great, isn’t he! We all love him, and, trust me, the writing team has plans for Misha,” Kripke smiled, the happy smile of someone who was getting everything they wanted for Christmas. “You’ll see; it’ll be great!”

Kripke left and Jensen put his plate of food into the mini-fridge, moving some bottled water to make room. He wasn’t hungry. He wondered if his appetite would return by tonight. No need to ask about Sterling’s behavior. His friend was sure to be delighted to accept the other job, to move closer to his and Michelle’s family. Jensen had to be a shitty, selfish friend to be so disappointed.

* * *

Michelle greeted Jensen with a hug when he arrived for supper and then grinned when he presented her with a bottle of wine. She started to speak but her words were drowned out by the elephantine thumping of teeny tiny feet as her two children mobbed Jensen.

“Eeee! Uncle Jensen!”

“Uncle Jensen, I lost my tooth! See? And . . .”

“No, look, I made a bracelet . . .”

“. . . it was bleeding all over everywhere . . .”

“ . . . with painted macaroni, and if you . . .”

“ . . . and the Tooth Fairy forgot to come, but then . . .”

“. . . rub it on your face, it’s like make-up! Like Daddy. See!”

“ . . . she sent me a letter and TWO dollars! Not just one! Look!”

Smiling, Michelle mercilessly abandoned him to the attentions of her children, and took the wine into the kitchen. Jensen was dragged away, one shoe still on, to admire a sprawling structure made of toothpicks and mini-marshmallows. It took him awhile to extricate himself (granted, he wasn’t trying all that hard), and by that time there was another voice in the living room, a voice that was neither Sterling’s nor Michelle’s, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jared. Jensen gave Sterling his best angry scowl as he entered the room, before composing himself again as Jared turned towards him.

“Hey Jensen!” Jared beamed. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Likewise.” He shot another glare at Sterling, and Jared’s smile dimmed. He turned to look at Sterling questioningly.

“We’re having a marathon. Not a sex marathon, just an Octocobra one.” The disconcerting statement came from the corner of the room, where Misha stood, examining one of the paintings on the wall. Jared seemed nonplussed and Jensen snickered. “Jared here hasn’t seen anything from season 1,” Misha continued, “so the fans will eat him alive at the convention next month.”

“Misha,” Jensen greeted the other man.

“Jensen.” A nod in his direction, but the painting still claimed Misha’s attention.

* * *

“Like the Spiderman bad guy! Oh, what was it? Doc . . .?” Jared said.

“No! Not at all!” Jensen hated that kind of comparison. Anyone who bothered to pay attention could see it was not similar at all.

“Yes, it really is,” Misha said, setting a bowls of chips beside the veggie tray and flopping down into the big chair with a sigh. “Oh, not the story, but the look. Admit it, Jen.”

“No! It is not. Judas,” he whispered, and Misha smiled and stuffed another cheese-dipped broccoli floret into his mouth. Jensen sat up from his sprawl in the big recliner, and leaned forward, looking intently at Jared.

“First of all, Doc Ock had mechanical arms and was a nuclear scientist or something. Dean is a high school dropout, and his tentacles are real.” Jared seemed a bit stunned by Jensen’s focused stare, and Jensen was glad he could rock that self-assured bubble, even if he didn’t know exactly how he had.

“Okay, okay,” Misha laughed from his corner. “Way to show that inner geek, Jensen! It’s like you’re your own fangirl!” The cushion hit Misha square in the face and Jensen smirked as he relaxed again. He probably should relax a bit more.

“Alright, girls,” Sterling said, squatting down with the Season 1 and 2 DVDS. “We’ve got to get the new kid here up to date on what this show is all about. Suggestions?”

“Definitely the pilot.”

“Of course. Anything else?” Sterling opened up the DVD foldout and started loaded the suggested disks into his DVD changer.

“Umm, both season finales and Jim Beaver’s death.” Misha turned to Jared. “Jim’s character was the boss and he was Dean’s surrogate family.” He waved his hands at the large flat screen. “You’ll see.” Jared nodded and kept quiet as the others began debating the merits of the various episodes.

“Hey Jared, you should watch the bug one!” Sterling chortled. “You’ll never see more realistic acting from Jensen!”

“Fuck you!” The retort was good-natured, but the shudder that accompanied it was not faked. Jensen would adamantly refuse to work with live insects again, and had no desire to relive the shoot by watching that particular episode. Unfortunately, Jared’s interest seemed peaked, and his eyes brightened.

“What happened? Did they get into his clothes?” Jared asked Sterling, and Jensen narrowed his eyes at the far-too-happy tone. But it was Misha who answered.

“There were these massive beetles, and they said it would be cheaper and look better without the CGI, so there was this guy, an insect trainer or something, and oh . . . about fifteen big-ass beetles that crawled over Jen,” he shook his head. “Pure terror, it was awesome!” Jensen sacrificed another cushion but it wasn’t enough to wipe away Misha’s amusement.

“They bite! Beetles bite! No one bothered to tell me this until they’d already put the things on. Ugh!” Jensen couldn’t repress a shiver at the memory. “Big as my hand, and they have friggin’ horns to stab people with!”

“And the best part—” Sterling was almost in tears now, “—was when they started to fight on Jensen’s chest! They’re like, territorial, I guess. . .”

“Yeah, it was a riot,” Jensen said dryly, but with a small smile. He could joke about it now, in moderation; it had been almost two years ago, and there had been a lot of episodes since then to soften the edges of his memory. He wasn’t going to cop to the occasional nightmare he still had involving human-sized beetles attacking him. He would never work with insects again; it had been written into his contract when the show was renewed for Season 2.

“Okay, I’ve got to see that one,” Jared said and Sterling obediently wiped his eyes and found the right disk.

* * *

“Poor kid,” Jared said. They had just finished watching the opening. Apparently Jared had watched some of the later episodes as part of his research for the part, but had never seen anything from the first season. Jensen looked over at him closely, expecting to see some sort of mockery. The episodes did improve over time, as both the writers and the actors settled into their characters, but Jensen didn’t think it was that bad, and he had a soft spot for the pilot. It wasn’t right for Jared to make fun. But Jared appeared to be serious, eyes sad and glued to the set.

“Okay, here’s Jensen, coming up,” Misha announced. And there he strode into the shot.

“Aww, it’s baby Jensen!” Now Jared was mocking. “Wasn’t this just a couple years ago?”

“They changed the haircut, and let him get stubble,” Sterling told him. “Makes him seem older.” Jensen sent a chip across the room to hit Sterling on the side of his head. He’d been trying for a face shot, so he sent another, which Sterling ducked.

“Cute-and-cuddly you is a big improvement.” Jared said that last bit in a quiet undertone that Jensen almost didn’t catch, before continuing in his normal voice. “Almost twinky really, but just a bit too much muscle for that. . . .”

 _What? Cuddly, cute? That so wasn’t an appropriate description!_ It was enough to get Misha and Sterling started again, and the three of them laughed uproariously as Dean Cobra introduced himself to Walker. The post-production treatment had changed a lot in the first few episodes, and the pilot lacked some of the grittiness that developed in the later shows; the soft light lent a newness to the shots, and combined with the soft haircut and clean-shaven face, Jensen could admit that Dean did look a lot younger here.

Jensen passed a hand over his short spikes self-consciously, and let it trail down his sandpapery chin. Dean now had a permanent 5 o’clock shadow, something that Jensen’s ex-wife had constantly complained about. She’d preferred a smooth-shaven face and had even once tried to get him to shave his legs too (“But Jeeensen, all the guys are doing it now!”). After he’d refused to even consider it, she’s been pissed at him for a few days. That wasn’t long before they’d called it quits. Well, before she’d called it quits. It hadn’t been an amicable split, not after she’d humiliated him on national TV.

He never wanted to date anyone who enjoyed the spotlight, and he’d said as much last year to Chris. Jensen adamantly refused to dwell on Chris’s reply. “Shit, Jensen, the spotlight likes you, man. Keep thinking like that and you’re going to end up alone.” Alone wouldn’t be so bad, Jensen thought.

## Episode 3.09, Pressure Points

Jensen gritted his teeth as he watched his stunt double from his chair. None of this was hard. Nothing in the choreography should have required Todd to step in. Both men rolled each other around the mat until Jared had Todd pinned. From where he sat, Jensen could see the movements of the camera crew, as well as part of the director’s screen. With small, steady camera movement, Jared’s face grew to fill the screen. Sam stared intently in front of him.

“Good,” the director called, and he checked off another item on the shot list. “Again.”

Todd was smiling as he offered Jared a hand up and clapped him on the back. Jensen seethed. He’d argued with Kripke today—well, not so much argued as calmly stated his position and quietly listened as his boss overruled him. In this scene, their characters were attending a mandatory pressure point training seminar. There was a lot of tumbling and joint locks involved, but no fistfights. The higher-ups were adamant: an injury to Jensen threatened everyone’s job, and in no way was the main lead of the show to be risked doing something a less essential person could do. Jensen’s not-broken nose had cemented that lesson.

For this scene, Jensen thought, Jared’s groping of Misha, trying to elicit a laugh, actually worked for the shot. It would have gone a lot faster had Misha been able to keep a straight face.

“Okay, Jensen, hop in there.”

Jensen walked over to where Todd now lay on Jared. Jared maintained his position, face-down on the ground, as Todd extricated himself. Jensen carefully assumed Todd’s former position, and the script supervisor made the necessary adjustments. Jared adjusted his arm in Jensen’s grip, so Jensen applied slightly more pressure to the lock. Jared froze.

“Careful!” Jared said in a low voice, pitched to reach Jensen but no one else. Jensen was sure, however, that the microphones had no problem picking it up. Jared’s free hand had lifted from the ground, ready to tap out if needed.

“Quit moving, then,” he retorted. “You’re supposed to be pinned.”

“I’m supposed to be struggling,” Jared said, and his next attempted movement made him wince. “Let up a bit.”

Jensen released some of the pressure, and Jared’s hand came to rest back on the ground.

“Hold it there for a sec, guys,” the director called. “Camera group 2 is fixing some technical thing. How long is . . .” His voice faded out as he walked over to confer with the camera operators.

Jared and Jensen held the position as directed. They didn’t speak. After a moment, Jensen started feeling uncomfortable and wondered if Jared felt the same. Jensen lay sprawled on Jared’s back, and he held Jared’s head down with one hand and, with the other, held Jared’s arm that was twisted behind his back.

Jensen’s legs sprawled to either side of Jared’s hips, which placed Jensen’s crotch against Jared’s lower back. The pressure had an undesired effect, and, to Jensen’s mortification, his cock gave a small twitch. His gratitude to Lanie, for brusquely squatting down beside them and touching up his makeup, and to Min Jiu for readjusting strands of Jared’s hair, guaranteed them the biggest fruit baskets he could find. They provided enough of a distraction that he was able to will himself under control.

He tucked away the emotions—panic, confusion, embarrassment, and something unnamed—to draw on in a few minutes. Jensen would need to portray Dean struggling to rein in his emotions, to regain control of himself as his tentacles threatened to emerge during this training drill with Sam. It was reminiscent of Dean’s struggles in Season One.

“All right, we’re good to go!” At the call, Jensen closed his eyes and found his ‘Dean’ space. “Ready? Aaand ACTION!”

* * *

Jensen shucked off Dean’s shirt and shimmied out of Dean’s pants. In his boxers, he folded Dean’s clothes and set them on the table so he wouldn’t forget to return them. He’d shot Dean’s last scene for that episode, so those clothes would be washed and returned to Dean’s wardrobe trailer and, tomorrow, Dean would have a different combination of essentially the same clothes. Jensen’s own clothes lay in a heap in the corner, and he was in no hurry to put them on.

He ran the side of a cold beer along his forehead, smiling at the feel of the bottle. Jensen reveled in his first truly peaceful moment of the day. Sterling had left earlier, and the crew was packing up. A new script sat on his table, pristine and unfolded. After two years, he still enjoyed putting his feet up in the evening, with some snacks, and being one of the first to read what the next episode had in store for him. By the next night, he’d have been over the words so many times that any of that initial rush of enjoyment was gone, but the first read was always one of the highlights of the day. He simply looked at the script now though, too mellow and exhausted to want to move the few feet to snag it. It could wait. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let his shoulders sag as he let it out.

Bam! Bam! He bolted upright, foot slipping in a puddle of beer from where the bottle had slipped in his lax hand. Jensen grimaced at the wet beer footprint he was leaving as he made his way to the trailer door. Only once he’d opened it, did he remember that he was still only in his boxers.

“Well hello there, sailor!” Misha’s arched eyebrow coaxed a smile from him, as he stifled a yawn.

“Hey Mish,” Jensen said. He yawned again, turned his back, and walked back into his trailer, leaving the door open for Misha to follow. “What d’ya want?” It might have come out a bit harsher than he’d intended, but he was tired and had just been woken up. Misha would understand; he was cool that way.

“Real nice.” That muttering wasn’t Misha, and Jensen turned to see Jared walking behind Misha, into his trailer.

“Jared,” Jensen said through gritted teeth, and he thought that it came out rather more polite than he intended. Jared arched his eyebrow at Jensen, and made blatant assessment of Jensen’s lack of clothes. Jensen rewarded him with a scowl and made a move towards his jeans lying on the floor before deciding against it: it was his trailer, and Jared could leave if he had a problem with it. Jared simply leaned against the wall, watching him, expressionless.

“Okay, so Jensen,” Misha began, and placed himself casually between Jared and Jensen. It brought to mind the snippet of conversation that Jensen had overheard last week. He’d walked around a corner just in time to hear Robert Singer tell Misha that it always went more smoothly when Jared and Jensen didn’t try to talk to each other. If Jared wasn’t so annoying, Jensen would be offended on his behalf; it wasn’t as though either of them were children. . .

“. . . to shoot some pool,” Misha finished.

“Sorry, Mish, run that by me again.” Jensen ignored Jared’s low muttering to focus on Misha.

“Yeah, I just wanted to see if you’d like to come out with me and Vicki to shoot some pool tonight, around eight?” he repeated, but Jensen was already shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m beat. Going to head back and rest a bit. You guys have fun though.” Jensen included Jared in that last bit, proud of himself for being the bigger man.

“Jared’s not coming. He has to go call the missus,” Misha said, smiling. Jensen narrowed his eyes, imagining that cheating asshole lying through his teeth into the phone.

Deep breaths.

“I’m just going to give him a ride back,” Misha continued. “Need one too?” At this, Jared eyed his lack of clothes, but made no comment. Jensen probably would have accepted the ride if it hadn’t included Jared, but he had no interest in being stuck in Misha’s tiny car with the yeti. A lying, cheating yeti. And Jensen wasn’t a small man either.

He declined, watched both men leave, then put on his clothes and called Cliff to take him home.

* * *

Jensen put on his workout clothes with a sigh of pleasure. Comfort. He’d had to change his shirt, after an unfortunate incident with poutine at supper, so he pulled on his workout clothes which were the closest that he could reach without having to actually move. His mother would have been appalled at his supper of fries, cheese, and gravy, with a tall root beer. After scraping the remains off his shirt and the crotch of his pants, and after placing his empty dishes on the floor outside his room for room service to pick up, he was bored, so since he was now dressed for it, Jensen decided to counteract his meal choice with a quick workout.

He gathered up his dirty laundry from its normal spot on the floor of his closet, and stuffed it all into the large white bags provided by the hotel for those requiring laundry service. The clothes he had sent the other day to be washed now sat by the foot of the bed, cleaned and folded inside the bag. He would go through them after his workout. Perfect. Gym time. Since Misha had said that Jared-the-cheating-bastard would be preoccupied with lying to his clueless girlfriend, Jensen could look forward to having the gym to himself. Later he would have time to sit down quietly with the new script before calling it a night.

* * *

Sweat was trailing freely down Jensen’s face when he heard it. Bang! The door of the workout room. Fortunately, he was almost finished with the run. He’d put on his music and gone through his usual routine, with a warm up and some weights and was finishing his cardio. It had been a great session. Jensen had immersed himself in his exercise and forgotten the day.

Until this. The banging of the door threw off his stride and somehow his arm caught the earphone cord from his I-pod in his pocket, yanking the earbuds out of his ears. He caught them quickly before they fell onto the track, and soon was back to his usual stride, earbuds in his pocket. When he was certain that everything was under control again, he chanced a glance towards the door that had banged open.

“Chad, I don’t know. No!” Jared spoke into his phone as he entered, pausing in the doorway to pay attention, and then waved the other arm emphatically. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying but, I dunno . . . what do you think I . . ?” His arm dropped down and he stopped. Finally noticed, Jensen thought, that other people existed who did not care what Chad Michael Murray thought about anything. After the initial eye contact, Jared ignored him, and stepped up onto the only other treadmill, directly beside Jensen.

Now Jensen could hear the buzzing of Murray’s voice and put in his earbuds again. The left side, the one closest to Jared had no sound, had probably been damaged when he’d snagged them. Dammit. He quickly switched them around and while the one-sided music helped drown out Murray, it did nothing for Jared’s booming voice. The man didn’t even bother making an effort to speak lower, and Jensen suspected was he was purposely speaking louder to irritate him. Petty, he thought.

Today, Jared appeared set on a run. Jensen ignored him and continued, even though his time was up. If he were to leave now, right after Jared arrived, the other man might get the idea that his presence was bothersome, that he could get under Jensen’s skin, and that wouldn’t do. So he continued running, wiping the sweat from his eyes. Jared started off slowly, and Jensen enjoyed the feeling of outdoing the other man, although he knew that Jared was still warming up. From the corner of his eyes, Jensen saw Jared fumbling around with something—his phone, probably—but Jensen wouldn’t turn to acknowledge the other man. In the last couple weeks, since the lifting fiasco, they had entered into an unspoken understanding. Both refused to admit that the other existed. It worked for Jensen. Mostly.

Jared started picking up his pace now, warm-up finished. Soon he matched Jensen. Jensen could hear Jared’s breathing next to him. It mixed with the sound of his own breathing and the rhythmic thumping of two sets of feet hitting the tread. Companionable, had they been friends, with a bit of challenge. As Jensen’s breath grew more forced, Jared increased his speed. It brought to mind the nighttime noises coming from their adjoining wall, and Jensen’s flush had nothing to do with his exertions. He felt his body stirring at the thought of sex, any sex. He wasn’t in a dry spell so much as in a drought.

Despite his wishes, he could tell that his body had no intention of cooperating, and he decreased his speed for a cool-down, hoping to leave before Jared noticed his tenting track pants.

Jared was a constant presence in his periphery, and if he flicked glances at the other man, it was merely to make sure that he didn’t bump into him by mistake—Jared was huge and took up more than his fair share of space. Jensen did not look at the droplets of sweat trailing down his face and neck, did not notice the ripple of his muscles through the thin tank top, as he pumped his arms while running, did not smell the distinctive mix of Jared’s sweat and deodorant, and most definitely did not watch as Jared took large gulps of water just as Jensen faced him to step down from the treadmill.

Jensen hid a grimace as he stepped off and became that much shorter than the other man. He staggered a bit, walking slowly and deliberately as his legs re-calibrated. Jared continued to watch the single TV monitor above him, apparently riveted even though the show had gone to commercial. Conscious of Jared’s presence, Jensen wiped his face with the towel, and quickly gathered up his water bottle and key card.

Jensen had played with the idea of taking a quick swim in the hotel pool, but he felt embarrassed enough in track pants, and there was no way he would chance a bathing suit given his current perplexing sexual frustration. It was time to call Chris and commiserate over how hard it was to find a woman who understood the demands of the business, who would not demand anything but would put out regularly, and who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his semi-stardom—someone with whom he would just click. Jensen knew she was out there somewhere. That was tonight’s plan: forget about the Jared crap, shoot the shit with Chris, fold his cleaned clothes, and read through the script. He let the door slam loudly as he left the gym, and gave himself a congratulatory pat on the back for getting the last word in their non-conversation.

* * *

“But seriously, Chris, do you think he’s on steroids? It’s ridiculous. His arms are just . . . just not normal to be that big. . . I hear steroids make you, y’know, um, unable to get it up. I mean sure I hear him and he claims to have this girlfriend but I’ve never seen—“

“Whoa! Jensen. Just . . . hold up. Are you hearing yourself?” Chris’ interjection took Jensen out of the nice little rant he was working into.

“What?”

“Oh, come on! This guy is all you talk about. For ‘bout the last month!” Chris’ voice took a higher, mocking tone. “Oooh, Chris! His hair is so long and luscious and floppy. Oooh, Chris, his big arms are all brawny, and his chest is all sweaty and-and-and-and— God Jen! You’re stalking the poor guy!”

“I am not! I . . . I don’t say that crap! And seriously the guy’s everywhere! I turn around and he’s there . . .”

“Jen-sen. You have the kid’s schedule memorized. Hell, I know it from just talking to you. So just go somewhere he’s not.”

“I was here first! I’m not changing anything ‘cause of his fat ass! He’s the one . . .”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Chris grumbled. “Call me when you turn five, and we can talk.”

The tone sounded loudly in Jensen’s ear and he tossed the phone down on top of the clothes on the bed. Chris had hung up on him, and it was Jared’s fault.

Jensen’s cell phone slipped off the large white bag of folded clothes, which reminded Jensen that he really needed to put those away. He opened up the first of the two bags and started removing the clothes, careful not to unfold them. The laundry service always made nice crisp lines, and Jensen knew that if he unfolded them, he’d never get them to look that nice. He turned on the television to the least objectionable of the reality shows playing: a cooking challenge show. He watched one particularly inept contestant completely botch a basic chicken pot pie.

“Ugh, c’mon, star anise! Ugh. Jeez, even I know that much,” he called out to the hapless wannabe chef. He froze in the middle of pulling out another folded shirt from the bag and took a good look at the clothing on his bed. In his hand was a light pink silk shirt, and it was that which has caught his attention. He didn’t own anything silk. And no self-respecting man wore pink. He unfolded one of the jeans. They weren’t his; he’d have to roll up the hem a couple times to make them fit. He upended the bag on his bed. None of the clothes were his. When he spied a tell-tale pink striped button-down, he knew to whom they belonged. Jared.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Jensen pounded on the door again. At first it had been a polite knock, and then it got louder. Thinking that Jared might still be at the gym (after all, the man was a bit overzealous about that sort of thing), he’d lugged the two bags of laundry downstairs, but the only ones in the room were two women in their twenties, whose eyes brightened as Jensen opened the door. So he went back to his and Jared’s floor. Then the thought struck him that Jared might be intentionally ignoring him.

No one could fail to hear the subsequent pounding. Soon after, Jensen heard the snick of chain being retracted and the click of the bolt being removed. Jared opened the door a crack, and leaned his head over to look through. Drops of water ran down his face from his sopping hair, and his large hand came into view to wipe them off.

“They gave me your laundry,” Jensen said, not bothering with small talk such as ‘hello’.

“Wha . . .? Uh . . . oh. Okay.” Jared stepped away from the door, walking further back into the room. “Come in.”

Jensen used one of the large white bags to bump the door open all the way and made his way inside, wondering why Jared didn’t just take the bags himself. After manoeuvring Jared’s clean, no-longer-folded laundry through the door and past the narrow entranceway, Jensen plopped them down at the foot of the bed and then glanced up at Jared. Jared stood awkwardly, hair dripping, as drops of water made their way down his pecs, and trailed down smooth sculpted abs to the well-defined juncture of his hip, where they were absorbed in a small, low-slung towel. As Jared shifted his hand slightly to tighten his hold on the hotel towel, his pecs flexed in the cold.

Jensen tumbled over the laundry bag that he’d been setting in front of him, and landed with a grunt on his shoulder, side of his face driven into the low-pile carpet, with his legs in the air propped up by the stupid white bags.

“Jesus! Are you okay? Here.” A naked foot was next to his face, and Jensen’s eyes followed it up without forethought, noticing the strong calves, attached to knees, attached to quads, attached to — Jensen looked away as he accepted the hand up. And as Jared straightened, the towel wrap once more covered him modestly.

Jensen righted himself, and his face flamed with embarrassment due mostly to his failed acrobat routine, but Jared’s wardrobe malfunction certainly added to the flush.

“Ahem . . . yeah . . . sorry . . . thanks,” Jensen muttered, his throat not quite working right, and it came out more like Dean’s growly voice. Jared looked away.

“These are mine?”

“Huh?”

“The clothes, they’re mine?” Jared waved to the white lumps on the floor.

“Yeah. Must have gotten mixed up.” His good deed done, Jensen didn’t really know what to do. “Did you get mine?”

“Um . . .” Jared walked over to where another white bag was sitting on one of the hotel recliners. He undid the drawstring and looked inside. He smiled. “Oh, yeah, definitely yours.” Pulling out a hot pink tiger-striped bra, he held it up to himself and struck a pose, lips pursed. “Don’t know, what do you think?” he said archly, and surprised a laugh out of Jensen.

“Uh . . .” The racy bra combined with Jared’s state of undress was doing strange things to his ability to speak. “Well, it is your color,” he managed, finally, startling a laugh in turn from Jared.

“Hey, I like pink.”

“I noticed.” Jensen waved at the laundry bags that he had opened. “Real manly clothes you’ve got there.”

“Takes a real man to be comfortable enough to wear pink.” Jared smiled, but Jensen hadn’t missed the flash of hurt in his eyes. Damn. Every time. Jared always managed to make him feel like an asshole. “So Jensen, I wonder who got your designer, brand name, manly outfits.” Jared nodded to indicate Jensen’s workout shorts and moth ridden t-shirt, his second most favorite workout clothes, and the only ones currently clean, except for the ones he would wear tomorrow to work.

“Probably whoever owns that bra,” he smiled knowingly at Jared. “This might have worked out well for me after all.” He used Dean’s giddy little-boy smirk and raised eyebrows to good effect. Jared laughed again, before looking searchingly at Jensen. And Jensen was flustered once more, because he had no idea what Jared was searching for.

“Um, okay, gotta go,” Jensen said into the silence, trying to regain his equilibrium.

“Stay.” From Jared’s flummoxed look, Jensen figured that he had surprised himself with his own offer. “I mean,” Jared continued, ”uh, well, I’m just going to go over the script. For tomorrow. If you want, we can do it together. . . Y’know. . . shock everyone with how mature and cooperative we are. . .” That last was said with a wry smile.

Jensen gave his own flicker of a smile in return, enjoying the thought of shocking the hell out of the others by voluntarily working with Jared. And wasn’t that a poor reflection on him, he thought. He’d always prided himself on his professionalism, friendliness, and ability to get along with anyone. From his talk with Eric, it seemed like Jared might be around for awhile, so they should probably try to get along. It had simply never been a problem before. He quashed the flare of annoyance that this man could bring out the worst in him. If Jared was willing to make an effort, then, damn it, he would do so as well—and better than Jared.

“Sure,” Jensen heard himself saying. More awkward silence followed his acceptance, as both men paused to take stock of the changing situation.

“Great,” Jared said eventually, and Jensen gave him credit for actually sounding pleased. “Did you get . . .?” He waved the pages of the script, and it snapped Jensen from his stunned immobility.

“Yeah, in my room. I’ll get ‘em.”

“I’ll get changed . . .” Jared blushed and looked fixedly at a spot on the rug, as if just then realizing that he still only wore a towel. His hair, though still wet, no longer dripped, and the water droplets on his chest had dried. Jensen hurried from the room, not because he was spooked, he told himself, but because he didn’t want to keep Jared waiting. And he resolutely refused to examine the thought any further.

* * *

As expected, Jared and Jensen shocked the rest of the regular cast when they showed up, having extensively run the scenes together the night before. Now that they had tacitly agreed to leave the mutual animosity at the door, he and Jared worked well together. They were still hesitant around each other, both side-stepping anything they thought might aggravate the other (which was a lot), but the mood on set had dramatically improved. Being professionals, they hadn’t let their dislike get in the way of filming, but now it was all so much smoother. Eric was almost giddy as he animatedly spoke to someone on his cell phone, gesturing wildly with his gaze fixed on the scene they were shooting.

Despite his griping to Sterling and Misha, Jensen recognized that Jared was good, and now that he looked for it, he could see traces of the chemistry Eric had mentioned. It surprised him. He and Sterling had hit it off right away, but had then worked to deepen the camaraderie that shone so clearly between Dean and Walker. They had spent time hanging out, going to bars, movies, and sports events, until Michelle had had enough of the male bonding and insisted on inviting Jensen to spend time with the family so that she could actually spend time with her husband. He had done none of that with Jared.

Sterling’s “Attaboy, Jense,” during their lunch break struck Jensen as overly parental, and he waved a friendly “fuck you” to the man as he walked back to his trailer with a plate-full of food. He would never admit the warm little feeling in his gut from his best friend’s approbation.

When Jensen had tentatively brought up the subject of Jared’s orgies, he’d first looked confused before erupting into laughter.

“Seriously, you thought I was having a big sex party!” Jared said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That’s so awesome!” He shook his head. “You might have heard my friend Chad. He stayed with me for the first few weeks, and he’s more the party type. My cousin Karen refuses to come back if he’s around, since he decided to watch Pay-Per-View porn on my tab while she was visiting. But no, I’m a one-person sort of guy, no wild parties. I have a girl back home. She’s awesome! She . . .” And Jensen had to listen to endless minutiae about Jared's one true love, whose profession reminded him far too much of his ex-wife.

* * *

## Episode 3.10, Goodbye, Texas Ranger

“Okay guys, here’s how we’re going to do this.” When Eric walked up, Jared and Sterling were arguing about what liquid substance was closest to blood in terms of consistency, and Jensen was chatting amiably with Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who had finally been brought back for a few episodes. Jeff’s character, the hunter John Winchester, had been shown this season, but always in the shadows, as a silhouette, or seen from behind, something to build the tension.

“Sterling, you hooked up?” Eric continued.

“Yup.” Sterling lifted his shirt to display the bags of fake blood and tubing that covered his chest.

“Great.” Eric turned to Jared. “Like was talked about, Sam likes these guys, so you’re going to be upset when John here shoots Walker. Now Jensen, you ready? You’re looking to camera one for the close-up. Camera three will follow Jared and Jeff. Sterling, camera two is yours. Let’s try to get it in as few shots as we can, guys.”

Jensen let himself be guided to the iron chair, handcuffed and secured with leather straps.

“Always wanted to see you like this,” Misha said, watching from the sides.

“You and me both! Oh, Jen, love you in leather,” Jeffrey Dean arched an eyebrow at him and gave him an intense stare before he and Misha cracked up. Jensen quirked a smile at their usual banter, but Eric stepped in before he could reply and escalate matters.

“Misha, off set.”

“What? I wasn’t . . .”

“Sorry,” Eric said, remaining firm, “but this is an emotional scene and I need Jensen’s attention fully here. Jeffrey, on your mark.” He raised his voice, and waved at the crew, ignoring Jeffrey Dean’s “aye-aye capt’n”.

“Hey, you need anything?” Jared asked, coming up behind Jensen. He automatically tried to turn around but was prevented by the head straps that the set guys had fastened. It was an unsettling feeling.

“Nah, I’m good.” Jared nodded and went to wait behind the door that opened into the hallway.

“ACTION!”

Jensen sagged in his bonds. Dean had been captured, beaten, and tied up for hours. Jeff came sauntering up, wearing John Winchester’s hard eyes and a smirk that told Dean that he would regret whatever came next.

“I hate having to do this to you, Dean,” Jeff’s John voice was deceptively friendly, almost fatherly, but his eyes were hard, uncompromising. John, ever so casually, lifted the de-nailing instrument, which was black with dried blood. It was to be torture, then. Jensen clenched Dean’s fists, in a feeble attempt at protection.

“This here’s your last chance before you’re in a whole world of hurt,” John said as he advanced. Jensen widened Dean’s eyes. It always felt overdone whenever he did so, as if his eyes were popping out, cartoon-style, but it came across great on camera. “So,” John Winchester continued, and released the gag, “what are you? And where are the others like you?”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice could be clearly heard and Dean renewed his struggles.

“Sam! He’s here! Sam!”

Jared and Sterling came bursting through the door, but Jared caught his foot and crashed to the ground. He and Sterling started laughing as they both returned to their marks.

“CUT. Okay,” the director called out, “from Dean’s last line. We all good? ACTION.”

* * *

“Sam! He’s here! Sam!” Dean was relieved to see Walker and Sam come through the door. They ducked behind conveniently located stacks of boxes as John Winchester drew his gun and fired. John’s mouth tightened and he turned the gun on Dean.

“You’ve got them all fooled,” John said through gritted teeth, bringing the gun to Dean’s head.

“Dean!” Walker broke from his cover and rushed John, who wheeled on him. Dean screamed as John shot. Blood erupted from Walker’s chest and he crashed to the floor. John whirled back to Dean and raised the gun again.

“No!” Sam screamed, rising with his own gun trained on John. John looked at Sam and then back to Dean with narrowed eyes, almost like consternation. He toppled Dean’s chair in Sam’s direction and ran for the back door. Sam stood there, frozen, with his gun trained on the suspect, but he didn’t shoot. The sound of the door slamming shut behind John seemed to shake Sam from his stupor and he rushed to Dean’s side.

* * *

“CUT. Awesome guys. We’re going directly into the next shot, so everyone not directly needed for this scene, get out.” Eric stood tapping his foot as the room, a warehouse, cleared. He, Jared and Sterling were the only actors there. About a half-dozen people remained, manning cameras and lights, but compared to the normal operations, this was nothing. Jensen appreciated the more intimate setting; the scene would be hard enough without any distractions.

The mood on set, especially without the usual coterie of people hanging around, was subdued. When usually Sterling would be making faces at him until the cameras began rolling, this time he said nothing, and waited patiently for Jensen to be ready, though he was undoubtedly uncomfortable, lying in the sticky and drying red syrupy mess.

Jensen still lay on the cold floor, tied to the chair, and Jared was a warm presence beside him. While the cameras and lights were adjusted, Jared practiced undoing Dean’s bonds, and then he refastened them. Freeing Dean would be Sam’s first action, and the whole time Dean would be staring at Walker’s lifeless body. When freed, Dean would run to the body and break down. Jensen wasn’t looking forward to it.

“ACTION.”

* * *

The death scene had gone beautifully. Dean had sobbed by his friend’s dying body, and Walker had tried to speak while spitting up blood, until succumbing to his injuries in Dean’s arms. Dean refused to be moved by Sam, and vowed revenge on John Winchester. Then Dean’s bit was done and Jensen had to deal with the man’s emotions. He’d tried unsuccessfully to walk it off, and was grateful that Dean had no other scenes that day.

Dean’s headspace was a horrible place to be stuck. And Jensen couldn’t get out. He still had a few hours before Sterling’s big going-away party, a few hours to shake this melancholy, but Jensen wasn’t able to muster much enthusiasm to celebrate his best friend leaving the show. They had made the show, he and Sterling.

Thinking someone else could step into Sterling’s spot was delusional. But watching some of Jared and Jeffrey Dean Morgan shooting the last scene of the episode, Jensen could admit, now that they had worked out their differences, that at least the man was a decent actor.

“You don’t have to kill him!” Sam said. It had taken Jared a few takes before he could push Jeff against the wall without one of them breaking into a smile.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with, son,” John Winchester said, calm, reasonable. “I’m sorry about the detective, he didn’t give me a choice. Don’t get fooled by this thing’s . . .”

“His name is Dean.”

“This thing’s good-cop routine.” John’s voice hardened and he shook off Sam’s hands. “It’s a monster, and we don’t know its endgame. Keep an eye on it.”

“I am,” Sam said, and looked away.

“CUT.”

* * *

## The Chicago Convention

Jensen stopped abruptly as he walked through the door to Kripke’s conference room. The silence unnerved him, especially as Misha and Jared had already chosen seats and were hunched over Misha’s laptop, intent. The folding tables had been arranged into a square with an empty center, and the other two men had placed themselves directly opposite the door, on the far wall. Jensen chose a seat at one of the adjoining tables and placed his jacket on the back of the chair. Salad in one hand, he meandered over, to take a look at what had so engrossed the other two. Misha just finished pointing something out to Jared and both men were smiling.

“What’s this?” he asked. Jared’s eyes widened as he looked up at Jensen who now hovered behind him, craning his neck to see the screen. He must not have heard Jensen arrive.

“Misha is giving me a rundown of all the ways Eric managed to piss off the fans.” Jared bounced a bit.

“Oh? So what’s this?” Jensen waved at the screen. Misha turned to him with a smile.

“The Beaver reanimation suggestions from last season,” Misha said with a self-satisfied smile.

“A Season Two review? Let me see.” Jensen pushed his head closer to the screen, ending up ear-to-ear with Jared.

> Archives—Fan Review, Octocobra Episode 2.6: Officer Down
> 
> _  
> _
> 
> Nooooooo! Bobby’s dead! WHY? I’m so angry at the writers that I may never watch another Octocobra episode. Ever! What the bleeping hell were the writers thinking when they decided to kill Bobby! Robert Singer has been in every episode; he was Dean’s father figure, the man he looked up to, and a huge fan favorite! Bring him back! We demand it. Who could possibly fill his shoes as precinct director?
> 
> As my token protest, I refuse to review this episode. So there, Eric Kripke! Suffice it to say that Bobby died a hero, while he and Dean attempted to save a bunch of hostages used as bait by that hunter. Bobby was caught and Dean had to choose between saving his mentor and saving an innocent kid. I guess you already know what he chose. Poor Dean, I can only imagine how this will mess him up; we love him (OMG, those eyes!) but let’s face it, he’s not the most emotionally stable guy around.
> 
> The ending destroyed what would otherwise have been my favorite episode. Jim Beaver was amazing, as always, and we got some great interaction between Bobby and a younger Dean. The brotherly moments between Dean and Walker were heart-wrenching, but that was fine because I knew it would be okay in the end—because, of course Bobby would pull through. *sob*
> 
> I swear, if Dean ends up getting arrested for killing Bobby, I will begin a boycott.
> 
> Let’s fix this massive mistake! This week, send me comments about how Jim Beaver can come back. Is it a faked death so he can catch whoever is targeting Dean? That sounds like something Bobby would do. Did the doctors mispronounce him and he wakes up and scares the crap out of everyone? Is it really Bobby’s evil twin brother who’s been impersonating him? C’mon guys, bring it on! Let’s show them how it should be done! Next week we’ll have a vote and I’ll send the ten best submissions to the CW. Can’t wait to see what we get!

“So, did they actually send them?” Jared asked turning to look at Jensen. Jensen hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten.

“Huh?” Jensen asked, distracted by Jared’s proximity. His hazel eyes seemed very intense from so close.

“I especially liked the suggestion of Bobby as a tiny ghost representing Dean’s conscience, who lives perched on Dean’s shoulder,” Misha told him, and Jared looked as if couldn’t tell if Misha was serious or just messing with him.

“Seriously?” Jared asked Jensen, more likely to get a real answer from him. Jensen shrugged then realized that he still was way up in Jared’s personal space and took a step back, and another, then took a bite of the salad he had almost forgotten he still held.

“Oh. Yeah. Man, the fans were upset. You should ask Eric to see the pages of suggestions. He loved them, and I’m pretty sure he keeps the folder in his trailer. The network loved it too. Any attention, you know.”

“Did he come back? Beaver, I mean.”

“Nope. And they haven’t stopped asking. You’ll see this weekend.”

“It’s a good thing Sterling’s leaving is still secret and that episode is only next week. You need to give people some time to get over the initial shock, before you face them,” Misha was saying, just as Kripke and a gaggle of writers entered the conference room.

“Okay guys, here’s what you’re allowed to tell people at the convention in Chicago,” Kripke began.

* * *

“Hi Jensen! I’m Patty.”

“Hi Patty.”

“My question is: how did you like young Dean and did you help him prepare for the role?”

“Yeah, what did y’all think about our flashback episode? Pretty great, right?” Thunderous applause, easy crowd. “I thought the actor that played young Dean did an amazing job. I can’t take credit for it; I mean, we spent a lot of time together and I gave him some tips about the walk and swagger and everything, but it was really all him. I’ve been asking, and I think you’ve been asking, for some info on Dean growing up, and there we have it. We got to see a bit about what happened in those weeks after he freaked about the tentacles and ran away. So I . . .” The crowd goes wild and Jensen suppressed his smile. That must be Sterling. He said he’d drop in around the half-hour mark. He made a show of looking around for the source of excitement.

“Hey y’all!” Not Sterling. What the hell was Jared doing onstage? Shit. Something must have happened. He could feel his shoulder muscles tense and his breathing quicken, only slightly, but noticeable to him. He didn’t know for sure that something had happened, and it would help no one to get all worked up.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Jensen said, “Sam Winchester.” The shouts for Jared were more subdued than those for Jensen had been, though the force still shook the wall. Jared stared at the sea of people, and Jensen wondered if he had ever attended a convention before. Jared acclimated quickly to the screaming; he flashed a wide smile, and adopted what Jensen thought was an unconscious swagger. His eyes went to Jensen and the smile hiccuped and dimmed a bit. “Sterling’s kid broke her leg. So you’re stuck with me, instead,” he said into Jensen’s ear, then lifted up his microphone. “Holy shit, this is a lot of people!” he said to the crowd. More screaming. Jensen could see new movement towards each of the two microphones set up on either side of the large room. _Alright_ , he thought, _let’s see what the new guy’s got._ If Jared was his character’s new partner, it would be useful to try him out briefly before he got a panel of his own. This way Jensen could help field problematic questions. Just because Jensen could be a bit self-conscious in the crowd, didn’t mean he wasn’t awesome at it.

“I have a question for each of you. In the latest episode . . .”

“Wait, wait!” Jensen’s voice drowned out her smaller one, and Jared turned quickly to look at him. “Potential spoilers here folks! Who hasn’t seen the latest episode?” Only a few voices came from the audience, but soon there was a rumbling of a thousand people vying to impart vital information. A grey-haired woman in the front row waved her arms frantically. Seeing that she’d caught his attention, she yelled but he couldn’t make it out over the din.

“Whoa! Quiet down,” Jensen said, then paused. They slowly quieted to so not to miss a word he said. It was heady. “You,” Jensen continued, pointed to the arm-waving woman, “what was that?”

Jensen nodded when she’d finished speaking. Her voice hadn’t carried far, but it had gone far enough.

“Okay,” Jensen said, “so I understand that last night’s episode was shown on the big screen on the main floor.” He looked to the wings where one of the event organizers nodded. “Alright then, if you haven’t seen this last episode, cover your ears, ‘cause here come spoilers.” Jensen nodded to the girl with the microphone. “Fire away.”

“For Jensen: when young Dean saved that boy from being hit by a car, I noticed a black Impala parked outside the motel. Were the Hunters watching him even back then, before he ran away? And, for Jared, the boy said his name was Sam. Was that the same Sam?”

“Wow! Good pick-ups.” Jared was sitting up straighter with wide eyes. He turned to see how Jensen wanted to handle the questions.

“Someone was paying attention,” Jensen said, smiling. “Did you all catch that? I’ve gotta be careful here what I say; some of this will become clearer later on. It was the same Impala, yes. And the boy’s name was Sam. And Jared and I really can’t say any more than that. Thank you. Next.”

* * *

“Hi Jensen.”

“And Jared!” Jared interjected.

“And Jared. Sorry.” The fan tittered and shuffled her feet nervously.

“Thank you!” Jared said with a sunny smile.

“Please don’t encourage him.” Jensen shook his head and the room laughed.

“Umm, my question is how long are Dean’s tentacles?”

“Oooh, naughty girl!” Jared exclaimed, dropping his face in mock-shock. Then he turned to Jensen. “Yes, Jen, how big are your _tentacles_?” he asked with a quirk of his eyebrows. Sterling never made him blush like this.

“Ignore him,” Jensen told the young woman, and took his own advice. “That’s a great question, and I actually know the answer to this one. We had a scene in one of the earlier scripts where Dean had measured them and written it down in a little book. But I think it ended up being cut. Anyway, to answer your question, Dean’s tentacles, the top ones anyway, reach about forty-two inches.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what they say about the size of a man’s tentacles . . .” Jared began.

“Oh, shut up.” Jensen covered his face, then tilted his head to look at Jared. They smiled at each other and the crowd ate it up.

* * *

Jensen watched Jared on stage at the panel; the guy was a natural when it came to dealing with fans. Jensen had to give it to Kripke, the fans seemed to resonate better with the Sam character than with the Walker character. Walker-girls still vastly outnumbered Sam-girls, judging from the hundreds of Walker faces that looked out of him from people’s chests, but Jensen thought that was probably due the greater length of time Sterling had to work on the character, and on the fans. Jared was simply a natural.

“Hi, this question is for Jared.”

“Oh, I like you,” Jared said, and the woman blushed and hid her face.

“Ah, um . . .okay. Jared, is Sam a Dean-girl or a Walker-girl?” General laughter.

Jared shook his head, but his thousand megawatt smile blazed. “Uh, Jensen?”

“Oh, no. You heard her. This question was to you.” Jensen turned to Jared, elbow on his knee, chin propped on his hand, evoking a picture of rapt attention to hoots of laughter.

“Traitor.” Jared brushed the floppy fair away from his eyes. One of the stylists had mentioned that the producers were going to let it grow out longer, but Jensen was partial to the bangs that hung into his eyes. He thought it gave Jared an odd vulnerability for so large a man. Jensen’s head jerked slightly, the only betrayal of his surprise at finding himself thinking about his male co-star’s appearance. It went unnoticed by the large crowd, and hopefully it hadn't been picked up by the thousands of cameras recording (despite the efforts of convention organizers).

“So,” Jared began, and there remained a hint of laughter in his voice, with the telltale crinkles in the corners of his eyes that also betrayed his amusement. “I think Sam would definitely be a Walker-girl.” In the laughing and clapping that followed, Jensen put on his his best hurt look, bringing out “awwww” sounds from the crowd. “I mean,” Jared continued, looking at Jensen and raising his hand in fake crowd-appeasement, “so far, Dean’s been kind of a jerk to Sam.” Jensen studied Jared, wondering if Jared really was still talking about how Dean treated Sam. “Dean’s been all suspicious and going through his things, and running background checks, even though Sam saved his life! So, yeah, he’d definitely be a Walker-girl.”

Jared arched his eyebrow and sent a smoldering grin Jensen’s way. “You want the love, you gotta be nicer to me, man,” he continued, caressing his hand down his body to the roar of the crowd, and Jensen remembered drops of sweat tracing the path indicated by Jared’s hand as Jared’s giant feet rhythmically pounded the treadmill, and he remembered the feel of muscles playing against his back as Jared strained to tow him during the lake scene.

Jensen was too stunned to come up with a reply, blushing and lowering his head with an embarrassed smile. He was so going to get shit from the crew for letting Jared win, but he couldn’t stop the rushing sensation of blood to his face, nor calm the rapid beating of his heart. Jared had definitely thrown him off-center.

* * *

“That was awesome!” Jared practically bounced off stage. Jensen followed him, and while he was too much a professional to bounce, he had to admit that the panel had gone well. Jared had taken him far out of his comfort zone, and he could feel his arms tingling with excitement. Jared would answer anything thrown at him, and loved to talk. He seemed to take the show’s themes equally as serious as the fans did. He made it all sound like important reflections of the current state of the world, instead of some half-assed crap that Eric came up late at night when he was too over-caffeinated to sleep, which was honestly what Jensen imagined usually happened. And Jensen was pulled along in Jared’s wake, offering his own interpretations when asked, the few times Jared paused for breath. Jared would freely play along with the silly deserted island questions, instead of brushing them off as Jensen had during his first few conventions, throwing great openings for Jensen to exploit. It turned out that both of them thought along the same lines and once they had realized it, after a few questions when they were still getting their footing, they were able to anticipate the other’s responses. By the end of the session, many people were doubled up with laughter. It was the most fun Jensen had ever had at one of these.

“That was so awesome!” Jared repeated, draping himself over Jensen. Jensen stiffened at the invasion of his space, and Jared must have realized it because he backed off immediately, to pat Jensen’s chest with a “sorry man.” Jensen had difficulty making out his wide grin among all the polka dots in his vision from the flashes that had gone off as soon as Jared had hugged him. Jensen forced a small smile. He had never been comfortable in the media spotlight after his ex’s little photo stunt, a huge disadvantage given his profession.

* * *

Jared: thx 4 panel

Jensen: n prob. U liked?

Jared: :)

Jared: C U on set. my call @8

Jensen: me@6. l8r

Jared: ok l8r

## Episode 3:11, Red Herring

On a Thursday, Jared called in sick.

“Yeah, I guess the poor guy is pretty miserable, headache, stomach ache, the works ,” Cliff informed him as Jensen closed the door of the SUV. “So you’re flying solo today.”

Jensen frowned as the engine started up. He hadn’t seen Jared in the gym or at breakfast, and had assumed that the man had decided to take advantage of the rare cloudless sky to go for a run. He’d expected the usual ten to fifteen minute wait in the SUV as he waited for Jared to primp or whatever he did in the mornings. For Jared to be sick and not to have called . . . Jensen straddled the thin line between hurt and offended. He had started getting used to having Jared around, had learned to simply tune out the non-stop talking if he needed to concentrate. It was kind of nice to have someone around to joke with. Given an inch of encouragement, Jared not only took that inch but at least the next ten miles beyond it. And he did it all with a contagious smile.

* * *

Jensen exited the elevator and walked down the hotel corridor thinking about how zombies probably looked more alive than he did. It had been a long time since they’d had such a productive day on set, and the director milked it for all he could. It felt like any scene that Jared wasn’t absolutely required to be in had been shot that day. Jensen felt they exceeded the number of shots requiring Dean’s suspicious looks or watching Sam’s back as the stand-in walked away in various settings. Jensen would never presume to offer suggestions to the director, another new one this time, but he’d really wanted to assure him that the viewers would certainly get that Dean was increasingly suspicious of Sam without slapping them in the face with it. Not for the first time, Jensen wondered if he’d be allowed to direct an episode. It might be worth casually bringing it up to a couple people and seeing their reaction.

Without Jared, the cast had reverted back to their more serious, pre-Jared leanings, and Misha was even able to get through a whole scene without laughing For all his griping about the Jared’s lack of seriousness, Jensen discovered that he missed the clowning around. Jensen tilted his head as he passed Jared’s door, carefully listening for the usual sounds of video games, or of Jared’s off-key warbling as he puttered around and listened to music. Nothing.

Jensen collapsed onto his bed and toed off his shoes, letting them thunk to the floor. He stretched, feeling the air on his stomach as his shirt rode up, and as his fingers touched the wall behind him, the wall shared with Jared, his eyebrows drew together. Jared hadn’t called or texted him once all day. Ever since that last convention, Jared usually sent him at least one text per day, usually something banal, along the lines of “Ever tried deep-fried butter? It’s good.” Almost like they were friends, and Jensen wasn’t asshole enough to disabuse him of the notion. Truthfully, Jared was starting to grow on him. But today, to the best of his knowledge, Jared had spent all day holed up in his room. Jared had to be feeling horrible to not explode from the pent-up words waiting to burst forth; Jensen hadn’t thought it possible for the man to be quiet so long.

Jensen kicked off his good jeans, the designer ones that Sabrina had made him buy. She may have messed him up, but she did have good taste in clothing. Jensen simply hadn’t wanted to toss perfectly good, and ridiculously expensive, clothing simply because his ex-wife had thought they looked good on him. If anything, now that he was single, he should be flaunting what he had, at least according to his friends.

Jensen opted for room service. He was in no mood to physically move, let alone snap on his game-face to deal with possible fans. Without thinking about it too much, he added a chicken-rice soup to his order. While it wasn’t on the menu, the friendly voice on the other end assured him that the kitchen would be pleased to make it up special. Thanking the man, Jensen directed them to send it all to Jared’s room.

* * *

“Hey, c’mon Jared, open up. Got food coming.” He knocked on the door again, harder. The cellphone he held to ear kept ringing, matching the ringing he heard from inside the locked room. A room attendant down the hall transferred a stack of folded towels into the supply closet, and he abandoned his knocking to run up to her. She took a few uneasy steps away from him until she recognized who it was.

“Mr. Ackles!” she blushed as Jensen quirked an eyebrow. “Umm, I mean, Jensen. What can I . . ?”

“Hi , Jacinthe. I need you to do something for me.”

* * *

“Mr. Padalecki? Mr. Padalecki, it’s housekeeping. Are you okay?” Jacinthe’s sharp rap at Jared’s door sounded markedly different from Jensen’s thumping. “I’m opening the door now, Mr. Padalecki.” Once she had overcome her initial reluctance to intrude on a guest’s privacy, after Jensen had explained his concerns about his friend’s well-being (and he may have alluded to possibly needing an ambulance), Jacinthe was all brisk efficiency. She swiped her key card and the door unlocked. She pushed it open and stuck her head in.

“Mr. Padalecki, are you there?” No one answered, and she turned to Jensen. “Sorry Mr, Ack—Jensen—I don’t think he’s here.” She squeaked as Jensen pushed past her into the room. “No, wait! Mr. Ackles you can’t . . .” Her words stopped as Jensen knelt down by a huddled figure in the corner.

“Jared! Fuck, man, Jared! Are you okay?” He gave a small shake to Jared’s shoulder.

“Oh God! Should I get an ambulance?”

Jensen ignored her, and concentrated on the man before him.

“Jared!” Nothing had ever made Jensen happier than when Jared cracked open his eyelids.

“G’way.” Jared waved his arm. The large movement was unfocused and Jensen narrowed his eyes. He was about to open his mouth when he noticed his uncomfortably cold knee. Some kind of liquid had seeped through the fabric of his jeans from the sodden carpet beneath. With Jared showing signs of life, Jensen allowed himself to take in a bit more of his surroundings. The acrid, stale smell hit him and he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed it before. Tiny empty bottles of alcohol littered the room, in addition to a larger bottle in whose contents he was kneeling. Tequila, by the smell.

“Hey buddy,” he said, turning back to Jared. “Let’s get you up.”

“Is he alive?” The quivering voice from the door reminded him that the woman he had pushed out of his way had probably not heard Jared’s whimper nor seen any signs of movement, given that the large man was curled up and wedged between the bed and the wall.

“He’s fine,” Jensen reassured the near-hysterical room attendant, “just had a bit too much to drink.” Her mouth turned down in undisguised disgust as her eyes raked the room, probably noticing more than Jensen had bothered to. The room was unimportant, to him anyway, if not to her.

“We’re okay; you don’t have to stay,” he told her. “I’m going to get my friend here cleaned up and if you could leave me some garbage bags and maybe some Lysol or something, I’ll take care of all this.” Jensen’s wave encompassed the room.

Jacinthe’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh, no sir. We’ll take care of that. I’ve seen a lot worse,” she added, and Jensen pegged it for a lie; she’d never make it as an actress.

* * *

The next afternoon, when Jared groaned and opened his eyes, Jensen wondered if he’d stay awake this time. He had awoken earlier, just long enough to vomit and swallow the pills Jensen pressed into his hand with a glass of water. It had been hours since Jared moved, not even waking when Jensen had shoved him over to make himself room to sleep. It was Jensen’s bed, after all.

It had been determined, when Jacinthe called for back-up, that the most efficient way to proceed was to have Jensen take Jared to his own suite next door while a team stripped the room and shampooed the carpet. He had left them debating whether to attempt to steam-clean the red lounge chair in the corner or simply replace it with another one from storage.

“Wha—?”Jared managed, sitting up and looking around. Jensen couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. With his brows drawn, mouth lax and open, hair flattened on one side with pieces sticking up, Jared modeled the perfect picture of confusion.

“My room,” Jensen said. He studied Jared. “You want to tell me what the hell happened yesterday?” Jared simply stared, so Jensen continued. “You remember yesterday, right. When you said you were sick but damn near drank an ocean of alcohol. Alone, as far as I know. That’s not a good sign, Jared.”

“What . . .where . . what?” Jared mumbled, then rubbed at his face and looked around the room again, gaze coming to rest on Jensen. “Jensen?”

Jensen sighed, and took his feet off the little coffee table where they’d been propped. He’d already reviewed the scenes he should have shot today, instead of staying here to play nursemaid. He had been absently flipping through hundreds of television channels with nothing of interest when Jared decided to wake.

“Went to check on you yesterday, since you were sick and all.” Jensen paused to give Jared time to jump in with an explanation, but the blank look remained. He pursed his lips and continued. “Found you passed out in your room and the place looked like the aftermath of an FBI raid.” Jared’s eyes widened and Jensen heard him take a sharp breath before he turned his head away to stare at the corner of the room.

“Oh no, sorry, pal. I covered for you, called in and said that I came down with the same bug you had.” Jensen had thought Eric was going to send a team of doctors to descend on them, but Jensen had managed to convince him that it would pass with a bit of rest. They would shoot on Saturday to make up the time. This little... whatever-it-was of Jared’s had damaged his reputation for working through illness, and acting his butt off even when running a not-insignificant fever. “You’re going to tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just going to . . .”

“Bullshit. It’s not nothing and you’re not fine. Talk to me.” Jensen turned on his best sincere imploring, affecting Dean’s mannerisms from that episode in season 1 when Detective Walker had kept a secret that almost killed him. It had worked well in the show too.

“We broke up.”

“Your fiancée? Shit, that sucks.”

“Yeah.” Jared attempted a small laugh but it lacked conviction.

Jensen walked to his little kitchenette, came back with a glass of his brother’s tried and true hangover remedy, and handed it to Jared. Jared gave a gratifying gag as he choked it down. Jensen sat next to him on the bed, back against the wall.

“So why did she call it off?”

“I did. I called it off.” Jared still couldn’t look at him and his voice didn’t rise above a whisper, though that could have been due to his probable killer headache.

“Oookay. Then I really don’t get the whole drinking ‘til you’re comatose.”

“I just felt like shit, alright! And she said stuff, and I just . . . I just needed to get away from me for a bit.” Jared looked at Jensen with wet, bloodshot eyes. “Can I crash here a bit longer?”

Jensen thought he must have looked a similar mess after his divorce, when he had discovered how amazing it was to have a friend who didn’t force issues. Despite the high-fives and “you lucky dog!” comments that Chris had bandied around good-naturedly when he’d announced his engagement, Chris had also been a much-needed pillar of support when it all came down. He owed the universe for Chris; he could do that for Jared. But they would have to talk about it soon, because, unlike Jensen who had had a couple months of foundering during a hiatus to figure things out, Jared needed to be functional much sooner.

“Sure you can crash. But Jared—”

“It’s fine, Jensen! It’s okay. I just . . . I’m really tired.” It was far from okay, but Jensen wouldn’t push it, yet. The important part was getting Jared functional for tomorrow, because no way would Eric agree to another delay without some sort of hospital admittance.

* * *

## Episode 3.13, Swimming with Sharks

“Hey Eric!” Jensen jogged over to where Eric was grabbing a sandwich from craft services.

“Hi Jensen. Good run?” Eric fumbled with the plastic wrapping but finally managed to get it open.

“Yeah, not bad. A bit damp.” He looked up a the grey sky. There was no rain, or fog, just a heavy constant mist. “Listen, about Dean’s fear of water. . . Since when is he scared of water? Isn’t that something I should have known already? So how do you want me to play it? A paralyzing fear, a dislike, running, screaming. . .”

“All right, there’s a new scene that’s being added, so I’ll be handing out revisions this morning. We’ll be having another flashback to Dean as a kid, shortly after he killed those kids and ran away from home. He’s going to get on the bad side of a pack of street kids that take shelter in the overhang of a bridge. One of them knocked Dean into the water and holds him under. The tentacles pull him out, while the other kid drowns. So since then Dean’s been scared of water bigger than a bathtub.”

“Okay. And what do I say when someone asks me—and they will—why Dean wasn’t scared of the lake at the beginning of the season, but is now terrified of a pool?”

“You’ll say that at the lake, Dean was weak from blood loss and it affected his reactions.”

“You just pulled that out of your ass, didn’t you?” Jensen shook his head.

“Yep. But it works,” Eric said with a grin.

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

* * *

“ACTION”

Jensen felt two little hands run into his back with enough force to send him over the edge and into the murky, abandoned pool. Before Dean’s head went under the stagnant, algae filled water, he saw a flash of the little ghost girl’s face, and—holy cow!—makeup outdid themselves this time. Jensen could barely see the traces of the sweet, polite, giggling little girl he and Jared had been introduced to. This one was terrifying.

Distorted through the water, Jensen heard Jared’s dive into the deep pool and sure enough, he soon felt an arm encircling his chest and and pulling him up, until he was able to take a breath. Jared held him close, safe. Jensen knew Dean would still be panicking. His tentacles, to be CGI’d later, would have emerged when he went under, striving to reach the edge—anything that would keep him up. As Jared got closer, they wrapped around him, pulling him to Jensen. Dean’s fight or flight response had kicked in, and he would not be above trying to use Sam as a floatation device. Dean would not be able to reason through the panic that gripped him.

“Dean! Let go! Shit, something’s got me! Dean, let go!” Dean’s arms wrapped around Sam’s head in his effort to get above the water, preventing Sam from keeping them afloat. As Dean dragged Sam’s under, Sam delivered two sharp blows to his face, catching him on the side of the jaw. Dean lost consciousness for a moment or two, and Sam was able to get out of his hold. The tentacles released, and Sam returned to snug a stunned Dean to his side. Sam’s arm crossed over Dean’s shoulder to under the opposite arm, a standard lifesaving tow. Sam brought him quickly to the side of the pool. As Dean came to, held safe in Sam’s sure grip, the tentacles that had been trailing limply below the water, were retracted. Sam felt the movement, and quickened his actions.

“Dean, Dean! There’s something in the pool. Come on, man, help me out. Wake up!”

“CUT. Great, run-through guys! Okay, individual shots now. Sam, we need shots of your dive. Oh, and Sam, next time don’t even pretend to pretend-hit Dean, the stunt guys will be doing that.” Jared’s shoulders slumped. It was such a small movement that Jensen might not have noticed except that any movement pulled at the wet shirt that covered Jared, a wet shirt that clung to every muscled contour.

“You okay? Did I hit you?” Jared asked him, and Jensen pulled his eyes away.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. No worries. They’re just being overprotective.”

“Makes sense. You get hurt and the show stops and they all lose their paychecks,” Jared said, and Jensen figured that maybe someone did lay into Jared after the fight scene debacle.

“Go on, let’s get this done and we can get into dry clothes for the party.” Jensen changed the subject and hoped that Jared would let it go.

“Party?” He would. Jensen smiled as he got out of the water and wrapped himself in the waiting towel. He heard Jared call out to him as he got into position for his dive. “What, you’re not going to say anything else? Jerk, you can’t say party and then leave it like that! Jensen!”

“ACTION.”

* * *

Jensen clapped as hard as everyone else when the cake was wheeled in, until he took a closer look at it. Then he groaned and hid his face, knowing the stupid blush would just make the ribbing worse. Already the wolf-whistles had started. The cake was amazing: Jensen had no idea how it stood up, but the decorator had built a life-sized model of him—well, of Dean—from the waist up, shirtless, with the eight tentacles out and winding sinuously around him. The whole torso was mounted on a large cake slab announcing “We did it! Episode 13!”

“Looks like everyone wants a piece of you,” Jared said, and if harnessed, Jensen thought, his smile could have powered their backlot.

“Shut up.” It came out as more of a plea than Jensen intended, and he suspected that Jared hadn’t even heard him in the clamor.

“Oh, god, Jensen, I just want to lick you all over!” Misha’s slow, deliberate, gravelly voice came from behind and startled him. Jensen’s half-hearted elbow into Misha’s side elicited a much higher pitched yelp. “Kidding, kidding! But seriously,” Misha waved at the cake, “how was I supposed to let that go without saying something.”

“How long did you have to model for?” Jared again, of course. “Did they cover you in icing match the skin tone?”

“Or,” Misha suggested, with a conspiratorial grin, “perhaps he . . .”

“That’s it!” Jensen jumped up, cutting him off. “Not another word from either of you.” Both men laughed, and Jensen closed his eyes and simply shook his head, but couldn’t suppress a small smile of his own.

“What,” Jared asked, “is all of this for? What’s so special about Episode Thirteen?” Misha looked horrified.

“Have we been that remiss in your education?” he said. “How could you not know about this? Where have you been the last few days?” Jared flushed and looked down, and Jensen could have happily strangled Misha for reminding Jared about his troubles when he had been having fun. Jared’s mind clearly had not been on set for the last couple episodes , and not only Jensen had noticed. Jared’s delivery was among the best he’d given them so far, but the energy hadn’t been there. Jared gave his performance without the goofing around he usually indulged in, sometimes remaining in character until he had escaped back to his trailer. Jensen would never claim to be a paragon of dealing with relationship issues, but even he thought that it probably was not a good sign. Jensen had been relieved to see Jared regain some on his usual exuberance today.

“It’s episode thirteen,” Jensen told Jared. “It’s the most we’ve ever shot in three years.”

“I don’t get it,” Jared said.

“In Season One, we only did twelve episodes. Season Two was killed by the writers’ strike well before thirteen. So an episode thirteen deserves a celebration.”

“Yeeeah!” The shouts beside them came from Davis and Ricky, in lighting, accompanied by raised beer bottles.

Eric gave a little motivational/thank-you speech, and proceeded to cut the cake. The first cut was ceremonial, to a round of cheers, and then Toby from Craft services took over. Everyone got a slice of the rectangular slab, but when Jensen arrived to select his, he was offered his choice. He opted for the right eye, and once that piece was removed, he thought that Dean looked a bit like a Borg. Jared whispered into the server’s ear at his turn and he snickered as he began to cut part of cake-Dean’s chest, nipple included. At Misha’s raised eyebrow, Jared shrugged.

“I’m a chest man,” he said, with a sideways glance at Jensen. Jensen then forgot all about eating his own cake in favor of watching Jared with his.

In typical Jared-fashion, he appeared to have forgotten his fork, so began licking the frosting in big sweeps around at the base of the piece and around to the top. As he got closer to the pink apex, he switched to little kitten licks until, he opened his mouth, eyes closed, and brought it down slowly over the frosted nipple, enveloping it, and Jensen could see his tongue working to lick up all the frosting.

Jensen was hard. Painfully. Only Misha’s quick reflexes prevented Jensen’s own cake from tumbling to the ground in his distraction. Jensen thought Misha might have said something, but at that moment Jared lifted his head from its worship of the stupid piece of cake. Eyes still closed, Jared’s tongue slowly traced his lips, cleaning off any remaining frosting.

Jensen managed to break himself from Jared’s spell before the other man caught him staring. He brought his gaze to his own plate, where his eye sat, watching him, accusing, and Jensen wondered what it knew that he didn’t.

Jensen was pretty sure that he offered some lame excuse as he rushed away from the party, snagging his coat from his chair, pleasant smile fixed and pleasant small talk coming out, as he walked through the crowd of friends and acquaintances, all closer to family than his own had been lately.

He welcomed the bite of the wind against his heated skin, but the cold did nothing to ease the restriction of his pants. His trailer door banged closed behind him and he locked it, wishing for an extra deadbolt as he carefully but quickly unzipped his pants, pushing them just low enough to allow him access. It had never felt so good. With hurried, hard strokes, eyes glazed with the image of a tongue tracing the contours of his chest and a hot mouth sucking at his nipple, Jensen came. Pushing out a sobbing cry at his release, he let himself slide down his trailer wall and sat there, cock softening in his hand.

For the first time, ever, he let himself wonder if, just maybe, he might not entirely be straight.

* * *

## Episode 3.14, Speed Bumps

Jensen could hear Chris’ loud laugh as soon as he stepped off the elevator. Shit, Chris was early. Jensen shifted the two-four in his grip, hoping the presence of beer would mollify Chris, seeing as he was bitchy about waiting. From the sound of things, it didn’t sound as though it had been a hardship.

Chris was only in town for a couple days, and Jensen had offered him a place to crash. He could hear the indistinct mixing of Chris and Jared’s voices, getting clearer as he approached Jared’s door. The locking bar on Jared’s door had been set to keep the door open a crack, and prevent it from fully closing. Must have been waiting for me, Jensen thought.

Before pressing open the door, Jensen heard his name and paused. They were discussing him? Knowing that eavesdroppers never heard anything flattering, Jensen nonetheless remained still.

“So you’ve got to look out for him, when I’m not around,” Chris was saying.

“About Jensen. . . is he gay? And just—I don’t know—really shy?” That was Jared, and Jensen stopped himself from bursting through the door and asking him what kind of question that was. Chris sputtered, and Jensen suspected he might have been taking a drink of something.

“No and no,” Chris said, when he stopped coughing. “Why?”

“It’s just that he never seems to be with anyone. He gets offers but . . . no hookups, that I know of, and these walls aren’t all that thick.” So Jared did know about the walls, Jensen thought.

“I know he’s not gay. Hell, he married every man’s wet dream.”

“Oh.”

“Why are you asking ‘bout Jensen?” Even from the hallway, Jensen could hear Chris’ voice take on an edge. “He running into problems again?”

“Again? What? No. Just wondering,” Jared said.

“Good. Listen, son, you seem like a good kid. This here is my number. If there’s any problem, you call me. If any crap like that bitch’s photos show up again, I’m your first call, got it?”

“Okay. What photos?” Shit. Jensen closed his eyes, and hoped that Chris would let the question slide.

“Nothing but lies his ex put together to get more money. Worked too. Forget ’em. Shit, where did Jensen go, Antarctica? Fucker was supposed to be here already.”

“I’ll call him,” Jared said, and Jensen was glad that he’d forgotten his phone in the room. He waited a moment or two, so not to seem too obvious in his spying, and then pushed open the door.

“Hey, assholes, I brought beer,” Jensen announced and let the door close behind him.

* * *

Chris’ approval of Jared was a two-edged sword. It meant that he didn’t complain as much as he had before about Jared and Jensen being seemingly joined at the hip. They were together a large part of the time, professionally, and also during their down time. The first time Jensen played video games with Jared was a revelation. Jared’s loud exclamations, combined with how his large frame shook the bed as he tried to duplicate his character’s onscreen actions—in perhaps a misguided attempt to not to lose—explained some of the sounds that Jensen had heard through the wall. Jared swore that he had never cheated, and Jensen believed him.

Chris’ approval also meant that Jensen was near-deafened every time he talked to his old friend, as Chris shouted hello through the phone to Jared, usually receiving an answering shout of “Hey!” from Jared on the other side of Jensen, stretched out on the bed with his eyes glued to the video game display. Shaking his head in an attempt to diminish the ringing, Jensen would simultaneously swear at Chris and glare at Jared. Both ignored him.

* * *

A knock on the door startled Jensen, and he rolled off his bed, where he’d been reclining comfortably. Jared didn’t usually knock politely and wait, but Jensen wasn’t expecting anyone else—not that he was expecting Jared, but his friend tended to show up unannounced whenever he got excited or bored. This knock and wait method was new for him.

The tousled brown hair on the other side of his door did not belong to Jared. It framed a thin longish face, pretty, if unremarkable. Heavy eyeliner surrounded big brown eyes, and the woman’s cheeks sparkled with glitter.

“Candy gram,” the woman said, and laughed. Her voice was loud enough to echo down the hall. “Hi, I’m Angelica. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Um, I am a bit busy,” he said, closing his eyes momentarily and taking a breath as the loud back-from-commercial music sounded from the television and proved him a liar. He wished he’d turned it off. “Can I help you?” He heard a click of a door opening, but saw no one enter the hall. Jensen knew Jared was home. Jared had planned to take a long soak tonight, and had gone into strange detail about how he would be having a beer naked under the jets, only covered by bubbles. Jensen ignored the pang of disappointment that Jared wasn’t going to come save him.

“Oh, no doubt about that.” Angelica’s coy manner, her fake demure head tilt and downward look, did not appeal to Jensen. He preferred a woman with presence, confidence, and a splash of decorum.

Angelica looked up suddenly, maybe realizing that her demeanor hadn’t had the desired effect, and smiled fully, with a jut of her hip and her fingers in front of her twirling something.

“I wanted to return your underwear and say thanks for the other day,” she continued loudly, and Jensen’s eyes popped open. He had no idea what she was talking about, but she was holding his underwear—the red striped ones with ‘candygram’ emblazoned across the back, a gag gift from his embarrassing little sister.

“I, uh, what?” he said, with an almost-squeak. He took the piece of clothing quickly and ushered her inside. If there was going to be a scene involving a discussion of undergarments, he’d rather there be no leaked photos along with it.

Her eyes lit up and she sashayed inside.

The woman surveyed the room, then turned to him. He turned the deadbolt before the door had fully closed, to ensure it stayed open. Sure, he wanted privacy, but if she was some deranged murderess, he wanted help to be able to get to him right away.

“I just wanted to bring those,” she said with another brilliant smile, and indicated the underwear buried in his hands. Jared’s smile was similar, as was his hair, but there the similarity ended. This woman’s eyes were playful, yes, but in a calculating way that he would never have seen with Jared. “And to thank you for returning my bra.” Her hand covered a breast as she spoke, emphasizing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and her smile never dimmed.

“My clothes! There was a mix-up, and I got your clothes. And you brought mine back—the bellboy said it was you. Sorry it took me so long to say thank you,” she said. Jensen felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He had phoned the hotel’s laundry service about the mix-up and they’d apologized and assured him that they would locate the owner of the clothing and return it. But that had been months ago. As if his thoughts were written across his face, she said, “I’ve seen you around before. I’m here a lot on business, and usually stay on the third floor. They probably should name the room after me.” She laughed as if she’s said something uproariously funny. “Anyway, I’ve been by here a couple times to say thank you but I don’t think our schedules match up well. Either no one was here, or you already had company and I didn’t want to intrude.” Not a crazed fan, then. Just a woman with a strange sense of propriety, who wanted to thank him. His muscles tightened again. “My clothes weren’t folded anymore,” the woman continued, “so I figured you must have gone through them. Maybe you remember this?” She pulled down the low neck of her blouse to reveal a tiger-striped bra, and he remembered Jared holding it up to his chest, lower body wrapped in a too-small towel. He felt a stirring of interest, and, as if this woman could tell, she smirked and slowly covered up again.

“Oh, yes,” Jensen got out, “I remember that. Them. The clothes.”

“I wasn’t sure how to say thank you. Then I thought of something.” And with that she was suddenly on her knees, blouse open, and placed his hands on her breasts and Jensen’s reply of “No thanks necessary, ma’am,” got lost before it made it past his vocal cords.

”I’ve seen your show,” she mumbled. With nimble fingers she slowly drew his zipper downwards tooth by tooth, her eyes never leaving his face. His hand fluttered uselessly at his side. Did he want a blow-job? Oh god, yes. From the person on her knees? Not so much. _Ready, willing, able, and no strings_ , Chris would have pointed out, with an incredulous look, _What’s the matter with you, Ackles_?

“Hey Jensen, I heard someone at your door, what did they . . ?” Jared’s voice startled Jensen and his little jump brought the zipper of his jeans all the way down. Jared had pushed open the unlatched door and now stood there, frozen at the sight before him. Jensen stared at him, unable to speak, and having no clue what to say.

“I, oh. Sorry. I’ll just . . .” Jared turned to leave, but paused in the doorway and looked back. “Jensen?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Jensen said, in a strangled voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And Jensen turned to gaze again at the hands reaching into his pants. He didn’t want to see Jared’s expressive face, but he wasn’t sure which of emotion he feared seeing: anger, disgust, disappointment, hurt, or encouragement. Jared must have adjusted the lock, because the flat sound of the door fully closing signaled his departure.

* * *

When Angelica finally went back to her own room, Jensen had the strangest sensation of being satatisfied and unfulfilled, both at the same time. He closed his eyes.

_Angelica’s floppy hair bounced as she worked Jensen’s cock with gusto. Jensen sank both hands into it and held tight, not restraining, but following her movements. As he felt the tension build, higher and higher, Angelica groaned her encouragement. The incongruent, deep sound pulled Jensen back from the edge._

_Jensen no longer lay on his hotel bed. He was leaning, legs splayed, against the Impala’s door. He must always have been there, but it seemed a minor detail, when all his attention was required elsewhere. Needing release, he tightened his hold on the soft brown waves and slowly nudged her into a harder, deeper rhythm, until, he was bottoming out into the wet warmth. His balls rocked into her chin at the end of each deep thrust, until her hand came up to cup them, fondle them, tug at them. As he continued to urge her into every thrust, her other hand caressed the globes of his ass, until her hand tightened, as she took control back, pulling him into her forcefully._

_Neither spoke. Other than the wet smacks of their movements and her hurried breathing between each thrust, only silence could be heard. As she slammed him into her, the tips of her fingers slipped between his sweat-slick crack, and he let escape a desperate, breathy, “ugh.” It drew her gaze upwards, and it was into Jared’s hair that Jensen’s fingers gripped; Jared’s intense eyes looked up at him, Jared’s mouth swallowed him down, and Jared’s fingers skated over unexplored places. Jared closed his eyes, the picture of contentment, and Jared’s hum of pleasure, sent Jensen over the edge with a last, almost violent, thrust._

Jensen opened his eyes and came with a yell. He couldn’t refute that his dream blow-job had been a hundred times better than the real one.

* * *

“Hey Jared!” Jensen tried to call out, but Lanie’s scowl and tap on his nose with a powder brush had him sitting, docile and biddable, once again. With his earbuds in, Jared probably hadn’t heard him. Jared had walked past, nose in the sports section of today’s paper, and went to sit in his own makeup chair. Jared’s do-over was always less of an ordeal than Jensen’s. Today was a tentacle shoot, so the process was a lot longer.

Jared jumped when a volley of pre-licked Nibs landed on his head, a couple bouncing off and landing inside the wide neck of his T-shirt. Jensen smiled expecting the usual wide grin, and some laughing retort along the lines of “Jensen! I’m gonna get you back for that, fucker.” Jared’s quick glance and silent brushing off of the candy took him aback. Jensen had hoped that the awkwardness of last evening could be quietly forgotten. Jared had walked in on him and that woman early, after all, before anything had really happened. He’d been prepared for Jared to put on a pretense of ‘okay’, quietly going through the regular motions while brooding over his split-up. This did not look like sad Jared. Jared seemed pissed. At him.

“Never thought you’d waste the candy,” Jensen said, watching the Nibs fall to the ground, where Jared did not pick them up.

“Never thought you’d bang some hooker.” Jared’s quiet reply, spoken into the newspaper that he hadn’t stopped reading, sent Lanie’s eyebrows shooting up. The makeup brush she’d been using stopped its smooth, efficient motions to rest just below his nose, and the bristles tickled and itched uncomfortably, making his face twitch, which really didn’t help at all. He turned to Jared, bristling at the unfair comment.

“What the hell is your problem?” Jensen demanded. Last night’s dream still had him off-balance, and the unexpected attack wrecked havoc on his own ‘everything’s fine’ mask.

“You. You’re the problem,” Jared said, shaking out the paper forcefully—to even out invisible crinkles, Jensen thought. Lanie quickly left, and Jensen knew he’d owe her an apology and an explanation, as soon as he had one himself. It stung: Jared’s dismissal and disapproval of last night’s debacle.

For months Jensen had put up with the needling, from Chris, from Jared, from Misha, and even from some of the set crew. All had little digs about Jensen’s inability to get back on the dating horse (and this analogy had been sometimes accompanied by excessively crude descriptions, in Jensen’s opinion), all in the spirit of manly ribbing. Jensen had taken it in the friendly spirit it was intended, but later on, alone, he thought about it, about the comments regarding his emasculation, about how he should give his hand a break every now and then, about how one mess with his ex shouldn’t turn him off all women. They hit close to home. And finally, when Jared had been an inadvertent witness to the fallacy of those comments, he reacted like _this_?

“At least I didn’t walk in on you and your girlfriend.” Jensen snapped. “And it’s none of your business who I sleep with!” That wasn’t what he’d intended to say. Girlfriend? He didn’t even know, or care, if he saw her again. He shook his head at how absurd he was acting. Sure Jared was out of line, but Jensen wasn’t helping the issue. Hell, what was the issue?

“The door was _open_ , jackass.” Jared’s words cut through Jensen’s reconciliation plans and Jared’s tone put his back up again. “But you’re right,” he continued, “it really isn’t any of my business what you do.” Jared stormed out of the trailer, and Jensen sat alone, again, wondering what the hell had happened.

And then the nightly Jared Sex Shows started.

* * *

A week later, when Jensen dragged himself into the makeup chair, Lanie’s eyes widened comically.

“Good gracious Jensen! What happened? Did Jared punch you again?” she asked as she studied his face and set about selecting the required products to make him look alive.

“I’m fine,” he said, “just not sleeping.” He had understated it. He still failed to understand what exactly Jared was upset about, and by now he was angry in his own right. They had drifted back into the cold war of Jared’s first weeks on set, before their laundry mix-up which prompted the first thaw. What the laundry mix-up giveth, the laundry mix-up taketh away, Jensen thought bitterly. He didn’t remember his time before Jared being as lonely as it was now. And he would never admit it.

Since Jensen’s blow job, Jared had brought someone home every night. Jensen heard the moaning through the walls, the thumping, the cries as someone achieved their climax. Jensen could not imagine a worse torture, as he strove not to become hard at the thought of his best friend’s sexcapades.

One night he had run into Angelica, for the first time since that night. Her face lit up when she saw him, and she practically glowed when he changed course to intercept her.

“Hi,” he said, with a small friendly smile.

“Hey sailor!” She smiled in return. “Are you busy tonight?” Her appraising look made it clear what sort of night she intended. Jensen blushed and looked away.

“Umm . . .” He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to come over.

“That’s okay. It’s not like we were soul mates or anything,” she said, with a laugh and a shrugged shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just . . .”

“You’ve got a thing for someone else,” she finished for him. He looked at her in surprise.

“No,” he said. “There’s no one else. It’s just . . .”

“Okay,” she agreed, as if she’d expected his refusal. Jensen stopped her as she turned to leave.

“Wait! I . . . can you help me with something?” he asked, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. This was going to sound ridiculous.

“A favor!” she said with a faked leer. “I thought you just turned that down?”

“No, this is something different.” Jensen blushed.

Some time later, Angelica collapsed on Jensen’s bed, laughing and breathless. He let himself fall next to her and both simply lay there. Jensen hadn’t has so much fun since Jared started avoiding him. Angelica turned to him and ran her hand up his arm with a questioning eyebrow. Jensen’s said nothing, and she gave him a chaste, regretful kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, “that was awesome.” Jensen continued to lie there as she put on her shoes and left. Looking at the clock by the bed, Jensen figured that they had been bouncing around for at least a half hour. He felt like a little kid in a bouncy castle, and for a while, he’d let go of all his worries. The two of them had jumped around, deliberately rocked the furniture into the wall, moaned and cried out in abandon. The antics had been liberating, and Jensen wondered what Jared made of his pseudo-tryst. Strangely enough, Jensen enjoyed tonight’s little rebellion much more than his sexual encounter with Angelica. Now, lying exhausted, the fears and concerns crept in again, but before they overwhelmed him, Jensen fell into the first decent sleep he’d had in many nights.

The next day, it was as if nothing had happened, and Jensen wondered if maybe he and Angelica hadn’t been as loud as they’d thought. It didn’t seem likely. But that night, on his way back from checking his mail, he saw Jared invite two people into his room, and one of them was male. Jensen wished he didn’t know what Jared sounded like when he came, but his distinctive voice still shone through the sounds of two others.

* * *

The next day, Jensen sat down with a shoulder bump that knocked Jared off his perch on the sawhorse that sometimes served as part of a table, sometimes served as a quick step-ladder if the crew was rushing (which was totally against workplace safety regulations), and even served occasionally for its intended purpose. Today it was a chair.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Jensen refused to beat around the bush anymore. He couldn’t get the guy from his thoughts. It was distracting: acting opposite the man every day, and only able to think about him and his conquests; to be out with people other than Jared and only be able to worry about what was eating his best friend.

He could admit that now. His friendship with Jared, once it got past the initial hurdles, had quickly become the closest he’d ever had, and he missed it. A couple nights ago, while out with some buddies from Smallville, Mike and Tom, he’d overlooked several not-so-subtle clues from a number of women who had been interested in accompanying him behind closed doors, something he’d only realized when he got home from dropping off his friends. Then he’d spent the rest of the evening alternately kicking himself as an oblivious fool who really should be having awesome sex right now, to wondering if Jared was playing Rockband and needed a singer.

Jensen didn’t know where his head was at anymore, and the confusion had already made him snap at the new assistant make-up girl. Already nervous, his unthinking comment had shaken her confidence, and he only hoped that her tentative application would be adequate. He hadn’t bothered to check in the mirror.

“Up? Nothing’s up,” Jared said, picking himself off the ground, and sitting back down only when Jensen moved over to make room. Jensen wished he had shoved him back, as he would have a couple weeks ago. He seemed deflated today, and Jensen wondered if his threesome might not have been everything he’d hoped.

“No. Not buying it.” Jensen stared at the large man. “Where’ve you been the last few days? Haven’t seen you around much.” Deliberately keeping any accusation from his voice, he refrained from saying how strange that was considering they worked on the same show and lived next door. He knew Jared understood.

Jared looked at him, mouth dropping open. “I’m giving you time with your girlfriend!”

“Oh, come on! Really, Jared? That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” Jensen tried not to shout, he did. “You don’t see a friggin’ gigantic middle ground between showing up during sex and avoiding me for days?” Jared darted a glance at him before looking away, quick jerky movements.

“I can’t do this now,” Jared muttered, eyes squeezed shut, gripping the sawhorse as though it might try to escape.

“Do what?” Jensen gritted his teeth and looked up at the clouds blowing across the sky. He had a fleeting impression of himself as Zeus, hurtling lightening everywhere. He could practically feel the lightning bolts straining to escape.

“Okay,” Jared whispered. He let out a long, slow sigh that had Jensen quickly looking down in surprise. Jared’s stiff posture slackened and his arms now hung limp at his side. He raised a hand to rub heavily at his eyes before letting it fall again. “Okay,” he repeated. Jensen waited, and forced himself not to rush Jared now that it looked like he might be getting some answers.

“I thought you were gay.” Jared’s quiet statement seemed to come out of nowhere. Jensen’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Jared gave a grating, self-mocking laugh and refused to meet Jensen’s eye. “There was never anyone. No pictures in the press. No rumors on set. I looked online. No one. Years. And I thought maybe. I saw the invitations, every time we went anywhere. But you never even looked. And Chris said the marriage was sort of a sham. So I thought. Like me. But then you and her and . . . anyway. Sorry.”

“Me?!” Jensen couldn’t figure out why Jared would think that, and then the rest of Jared’s words registered. “You’re not —you were engaged!”

“Yeah. So?” Jared turned to look at Jensen, perhaps to gauge his reaction. From the corner of his eye, Jensen could see Jared’s gaze, but he continued to stare at the fascinating rock sticking out of the ground a couple steps away. Jensen could tell Jared’s face had moved, and he thought that Jared must be biting his lip again. It happened when he was nervous.

“My. . .she was there when I came out. She was my best friend. Stuck around through some crap. We only got together later, after high school. Guys, girls—doesn’t really matter to me; it’s just about the person. I did love her, you know. I thought I did. She was always there to make things right,” Jared continued, followed Jensen’s gaze to look at the slate-grey, almost palm-sized rock. Now that Jared had decided to talk, he appeared to need to make up for lost time. Jensen simply sat and listened, at a loss. “We were supposed to be forever. I loved her; I know I did. She was supposed to be the one. But then you,” Jared said and waved his arms around in a mixing motion, “messed it all up.”

“Me?”

“You’ve kind of got me all turned around,” Jared admitted. “Was never this bad, not since high school.”

Jensen wanted to tell him that the feeling was mutual, but couldn’t. All the words had left. He had thoughts tumbling around his head, but they were formless, without any words to tie them together into any sort of cohesion.

“She thought I had this thing for you, and I didn’t. Except I guess I sorta did. Shit. Maybe she was right about all of it. Maybe I strung her along. I didn’t mean to.”

Jared liked him, as in ‘liked him-liked him’, and Jensen had no idea what to do with that. Jared still looked at him, waiting, trying to give him time, Jensen supposed. But he was too close, too ‘Jared’ and Jensen hadn’t caught up on his sleep. The last few weeks, whenever he did sleep, the dreams were these weird mixtures of Sam and Jared, in ways that Jensen had never thought of them—of him. Except that now Jared was thinking of them like that, and maybe Jensen was too . . .

When Jensen walked away, it barely avoided being a run. Speed walkers would have been impressed.

* * *

Jensen apologized the next morning. With deep sunken eyes, he knocked on Jared’s door, well before they were scheduled to be picked up. Jared answered in a towel, and Jensen kept his eyes above shoulder level.

“Sorry,” was the first thing out of Jensen’s mouth. “I’m an inconsiderate jerk,” Jensen continued, not allowing Jared the opportunity to interrupt. “You just kind of surprised me is all. I’m okay with it, with you being bi and all. That was never a question. But me . . . I’m not.”

“No. I know. I didn’t expect you to . . .” Jared trailed off.

“Um, if you’re not doing anything now,” Jensen said, “I could use a running partner. Looks like there may be a bit of sun today.” Jared shoulders sagged in relief and Jensen saw the first real ‘Jared’ smile he’d seen in a long time.

“I’ll get dressed, meet you downstairs,” Jared said, accepting the olive branch. When Jared closed the door, Jensen finally felt a slight easing of his tension headache, and he knew that the run would cure the rest.

* * *

Jensen thought about it. He thought about little else. Jared did not stop bringing people home, but it was a lot less frequent and more discreet. And there wasn’t another threesome. There were, however, more men than women. And Jensen heard them; he listened to the sounds of Jared coming, especially loud through the vent that linked their rooms. He thought about asking if Jared was having sex directly in front of the vent for his benefit, but thought it would be revealing too much about his listening habits.

* * *

Jensen had just decided that it was the worst idea in the world, when the door opened in answer to his knock, and Misha stuck out his head.

“Jensen?”

“Hey Misha.” Jensen bit his lip. “Can I come in?”

“ _Mi casa_ is _su casa_. But really, a trailer isn’t much of a casa. What would be the right word for—“

“I need to ask you something.” Jensen said, ignoring whatever crap Misha was going on about today. Misha shrugged and motioned to a chair. Jensen sat.

“I’m here, so ask,” Misha said.

“Yeah.” Jensen found he had no idea where to start. “It’s about Jared—No. It’s about me—No. It’s people in general.”

Misha stared. “Jensen,” he said, “what the hell are you going on about?”

“Jared’s gay. Or, bi,” he said.

“I know,” Misha said into the long pause. “And?”

“You know?”

“Sure. We talked about it. He asked a lot about you.” Jensen didn’t appreciate Misha’s tiny knowing smirk.

“Ah, um, yeah,” _Okay, here goes._ “I need to know about sex. Gay sex.”

Misha blinked. Twice. And again a third time. Then his face crinkled into that strange confused look again. “Okay . . . yes. But am I the one you want to talk to about this?”

“No,” Jensen said, “but you’re who I have.”

“Jensen . . .”

“No, listen, I can’t talk about this with Chris. Not until I figure it out first, then I’ll tell him. And I can’t talk to Sterling ‘cause he and the family are staying with his parents until their condo is finished, and that feels like having all these other people listening over his shoulder. Jared, well . . . My family—just no. You and Vicki are relaxed about this sort of stuff and I have questions and . . .”

“Why not look it up online? The internet is made for this kind of thing,” Misha said, but Jensen shook his head.

“No. That’s not going to happen. I got this email that said people track what you look at online. And yes, I know it was junk mail wanting me to buy some program or whatever, but what if it might be true. I can’t risk it. Imagine if one of the tabloids saw that I’d been looking up gay sex. I can’t go through that again. I won’t. It would make her right.”

“You’re being paranoid about nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Jensen said. “Those fake photos of me with some naked guy fucked up my life. I have aunts who still look at me strangely, some of my friends still think it’s true and my mom insists every time I visit that she’ll always love me no matter what. And there is no what!” Misha looked steadily at him. “Except I think that now there might be,” Jensen amended, burying his face in his arms. Misha patted him on the back and Jensen groaned.

“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” he said, and Jensen restrained himself from punching him for the inane comment. He needed Misha’s help. “What can I do?” Misha continued.

“I don’t know how it works, exactly.”

“How what works?”

“Sex with guys,” Jensen admitted, and this time he did punch Misha in the shoulder when he started laughing. “I know the general idea, just can’t wrap my head around the specifics.” So Misha told him, in great detail, and Jensen was certain that he would never be able to look him in the eye again without Misha bursting into laughter.

Later, alone in his locked hotel bathroom, Jensen explored some of Misha’s suggestions under the loud bathroom fan, with both the chain and deadbolt protecting the suite door.

* * *

_Sam ran his hands down Jensen’s back, and along his scarred sides. Scars? Oh, wait, this was Dean’s chest. He was still Dean; he hadn’t removed the prosthetics yet._

_Sam was there, pushing apart his now-bare legs. Sam entered him slowly, giving Dean time to adjust, pushing forward until he was fully seated. They held there a moment, until Dean’s quiet, “I’m okay Sam.”_

_Sam shifted and Dean’s breath caught, as Sam slid back and then thrust forward, starting a relentless pace that had Dean moaning. Sam hit his prostate with each hard thrust. Dean lost control, lost himself in the sensation, in Sam. From his sides, from the circular patches of discolored skin that looked a bit like old bullet wounds, Dean’s appendages grew. The tentacles slowly pushed outward, and Dean horrified when he realized what was happening... What would Sam do?_

_Sam noticed his distraction and opened his eyes. Dean felt Sam pull back in astonishment and his heart plummeted. Dean had been in this situation before, and knew how it would play out. But Sam pressed down on his hands hand to pin him when Dean started to pull away._

_Sam said calmly. “No, don’t. Stay.”_

_“Uhh, but . . .,” sputtered Dean weakly. His tentacles were fully extended, undulating uncertainly as Dean struggled to remember how to control them._

_“I told you,” interrupted Sam. “I’m okay with it. Stay.”_

_“Sam, it’s just—”_

_“It’s Jared.” Jared’s husky voice carried a hint of amusement._

_“Oh,” Dean whispered, before Jensen was thrown out of his Dean-space._

_“Stay. Right. There.” Jared punctuated this last request with a series of hard quick thrusts that sent Jensen’s face into the mattress. As Jared slowed to a more moderate pace, Jensen let go._

_Both of his lower tentacles snaked back to wrap around Jared’s thighs, assisting each thrust and pulling Jared deeper into him. Jensen felt another two to wrap around the short bedposts, providing extra support as the pace increased again. A fifth began to explore Jared’s body. Amazing, Jensen had so many hands to fill with Jared, he was surrounded by him._

_The nerve-filled end of the tentacle lipped at Jared’s nipples and Jensen felt them harden. He massaged each nipple in turn, pulling at them gently with the puckered tip. He smirked at the gasp of pleasure wrung from Jared and continued his attentions._

_Jensen’s hands held Jared’s hips as they moved and he felt Jared lean forward to nip at his shoulder, and that sensation seemed to pass through his body directly to his cock. His cock stood, wet with pre-cum and impossibly hard, so close to release as Jared drove into him relentlessly._

_Leaving Jared’s reddened nipples, Jensen sent the tentacle down along Jared’s torso, and caressed his ass, feeling the muscles work as Jared continued to thrust. Jared’s eyes widened as Jensen’s tentacle fondled his balls and quested between his cheeks. Finding what it sought, it paused, and kneaded small circles around the rim. A tentative probe revealed that it’s natural slick wasn’t quite enough. Jensen reached to grab something and a particularly hard thrust sent his face into the bed. Jared continued his hard thrusts, but when Jensen held the bottle out to him, Jared nodded._

_“Yeah. Do it,” panted Jared, and tortuously stopped moving to apply lube to the rounded tip of the tentacle. Jensen hitched his breath at the coolness of the lubricant. It felt as though he’d applied it to a second cock._

_“Ooh,” Jared moaned as the tentacle breached him, and Jensen cried out at the dual stimulation of Jared inside him and him inside Jared. When Jared had adjusted, Jensen began to thrust in earnest, withdrawing and driving back, penetrating deeper, forcing Jared into him. As Jared drove his cock into Jensen and drew backward onto Jensen, the sensations overwhelmed them both._

_Jared managed to place a hand around Jensen’s leaking cock, and Jensen’s hips stuttered forward into Jared’s palm. The increasingly frantic pace bounced Jensen forward and back, between the hand wrapped around his leaking cock and Jared’s cock that relentlessly hit his prostate, and the pistoning tentacle set the punishing pace from behind._

_Jensen’s mouth opened in a breathless, silent shout as his orgasm exploded. As his muscles clenched around Jared’s cock, his tentacle reflexively stiffened in a final deep thrust. Distantly, he felt Jared tumbling with him in a frenzy of stuttering movements. Then the world fell away._

Jensen woke up in sticky sheets, heart thudding, and barely restrained himself from going to Jared then and there.

* * *

## Episode 3.16, Where the Antelope Play

Jensen ran his hand over the beige dashboard of the black ’67 Impala. He was sitting in the prop version, so it didn’t run. The front windshield had been removed both for camera access and to prevent glare. The side panels of the car could be easily removed to allow side shots, and all the vital internal parts, like the motor and transmission, had been removed to serve as spares for one of the working Impalas. The chassis had been placed on some kind of heavy-duty dolly rollers and the whole thing creaked as if in pain every time someone got in. Still, Jensen could imagine Dean driving something like this.

“Don’t get used to it. It’s mine.” Jeff’s John Winchester voice broke through Jensen’s reverie. He turned his head to smile at Jeff, and showed him Dean’s most cocky grin.

“Not today, old man,” Dean said. “Finders keepers. I hot-wired it fair and square.”

“Thief,” Jeff accused blithely, and passed a coffee to Jensen through the missing passenger side window. Jensen nodded his thanks.

“I think I’m going to ask Eric if Dean can keep the car,” Jensen said between sips.

“Nah, it’s too much car for a pipsqueak like you. She needs a man’s touch.” Jeff exaggerated his caress of the doorframe then took a step back in mock-fear as Jensen raised his eyebrows and squared his shoulders.

“Oho, fighting words!” Jensen said as he started to get out. The jolt of the car forced him to sit back down, as Jared flounced through the open passenger side door and landed heavily onto the vinyl seat. The abused metal frame gave a sound not unlike nails on a chalkboard, and the sound sent a similar shudder down Jensen’s spine.

“Take care of my baby!” Jeff shouted, walking off the set to let the crew finish the last of their preparations.

“Alright, ready to steal a car?” Jared righted himself and rubbed at his shoulder which he had likely hit in his attack-like entrance.

“We stole it last scene,” Jensen reminded him, pushing him further to his own side.

“No, you hot-wired it last scene. Now we have to steal it,” Jared’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Jensen grinned.

“ACTION!”

* * *

“Go, go!” Sam yelled, wrenching open the door and jumping in as Dean first slowed the car. He floored the gas once Sam was inside. Dean’s hand tightened on the steering wheel (and Jensen pictured the shower of gravel as the car took off—a shot done with the stunt guys that would be added later).

“Shut up! I’m going,” Dean yelled back. Dean looked over his shoulder to see if John Winchester had followed them. Sam followed his gaze.

“I don’t think he slipped the cuffs yet,” Sam told him. “And even if he did, there’s only your car left, and he made sure it wouldn’t go anywhere.” Dean scowled at Sam’s words. From the rear-view mirror, he could still see the thin trail of smoke from the ruins of what was once his car.

“Think he’ll still be there when we come back with backup?” Dean asked.

“Doubt it. Guy seemed pretty resourceful.” Sam settled into the seat, angled towards Dean, as if he’d made himself perfectly at home.

“Do you know where we are?” Sam asked, after a moment.

“No. We have to be at least a half-hour out of the city and I know at one point we crossed a bridge, but that blindfold was on pretty tight,” Dean said. “Hey, check around for a map.”

Instead of going for the glove compartment, as Dean would have expected, Sam quickly reached around under his seat, pulled out a handful of maps, and began rifling through them. Dean alternated between watching the road and staring at Sam. Sam lifted his eyes from the map.

“What?” Sam asked, taken aback by the surprise he saw in Dean’s face.

“How the hell did you know to look there?” Dean asked.

“Oh. Umm.” Sam brought his head down and looked to the side. “My dad had an old car like this and that’s where he kept them.”

“Huh.” Eyes carefully on the road, Dean reached down with his right hand beneath the seat. “Wonder what else the guy has in here. Might be something useful.” His fingers brushed over some kind of large plastic cylinder. “Hey Sammy, can you see what this thing is?” Sam bent his tall frame to glance down at what Dean had found.

“Oh, it’s a rocket launcher,” he said, and casually went back to his map.

“A what?! Seriously? I’m sitting on a freakin’ rocket launcher!” Dean sputtered, and the car caught the edge of the pavement before Dean brought his attention back to his driving.

“Relax! It’s just a small one,” Sam reassured him, “and it looks homemade.”

“Where the hell did you grow up?” Dean’s eyes now were comically wide and his jaw dropped. Sam seemed to realize that something was wrong.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Um, my dad, he was ex-military. I guess I picked up a few things.”

“Yeah, I, I, you.” Dean fell away as Jensen stammered. For the life of him he couldn’t remember what came next.

“You okay, Dean? Forgetting words, are you, Dean?” Jared’s eyes rolled and he stuck out his tongue

“Shut it, Jared you ass!” Jensen smiled.

“Oh! Words hurt.”

“CUT!”

“What was the line again?” Jensen called out the missing window, delivering a punch to Jared’s leg, well under the line of sight of the crew.

* * *

The seventh time they shot the Impala theft scene, Jensen hoped they’d gotten all the angles they needed. He and Jared were just being silly now, and the giggles weren’t letting up. Jensen now only had to quirk an eyebrow to get Jared started, and he doubted they were getting much of anything useable. Sure enough:

“Okay guys, take fifteen minutes. Grab some water and get your faces touched up.” That was the last straw for both he and Jared. Both of them had tears streaming down their cheeks and were wiping their eyes, and they avoided looking at each other to stave off another round of laughter. Jared doubled over as the camera guys left. They leaned into each other as they caught their breath. As Jared slowly pushed himself up and tried to get his breath back, he steadied himself on Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen’s breath caught and all his stray thoughts and months of wondering gelled in that one moment. He leaned in and kissed Jared in one swift move, unplanned and unexpected by either. Jared’s mouth, already opened to say something, fit easily around Jensen’s. Their teeth clashed together once, then Jensen deepened the kiss, and both leaned in further. The edges of their tongues skittered and flickered around the edges of their lips, gentle, tentative. Then Jensen’s mind caught up with current events and he froze. His closed eyes now popped open, wide and wild. _What had he just done? Did anyone see?_

Jared pulled away after a moment, belatedly realizing that something had changed.

“Jen?” he asked, hopeful and unsure. Jensen could not speak. “Jen, help me out here,” Jared continued. “What was that?” Jared’s intense eyes pinned him and he could not think of anything to say. “Jen, answer me, you gotta tell me what that was.”

“I don’t know.” Jensen meant to say it out loud but wasn’t sure if he had.

“Have you thought about this?”

“No! Yes. Maybe. I don’t know,” said Jensen. Jared frowned.

“Okay, let me try this,” Jared said, finally. “If I wanted to ask you out. On a date. Would you freak?”

“Maybe,” Jensen still could not look directly at Jared, but from what he could tell out of the corner of his eye, Jared seemed encouraged.

“Well, get ready then,” Jared said. Jensen’s breath caught in his throat and he could tell Jared was smiling. “Jen, would you go out with me? Tonight?” Jensen bit his lip, looked around. None of the crew were nearby.

“Okay,” Jensen said after a moment, “I guess it would sorta be like usual, like us hanging around. . .”

“No. Let me be clear,” Jared’s voice no longer held a trace of uncertainty, and Jensen envied him that. “What I want is nothing like friends.” Jared’s bright eyes traced the cut of Jensen’s jaw. Jensen swallowed and Jared’s eyes focussed on his throat. _Not friends._ Jensen let out a shaky breath, looked at Jared, and tried to smile, but he knew it came out twisted because his muscles refused to cooperate.

“Okay,” he squeaked out, and tried not to panic when he saw a few people wandering closer. Their break was over.

Nick the camera operator looked suspiciously at Jared, and immediately cast a searching glance around the room.

“What did you two do?” Nick asked Jensen.

“What?” Jensen froze. _They know, they know, they know._ Jensen thought he was mere seconds away from his first ever panic attack.

“What did you do?” Nick repeated. “Jared only looks that giddy when you’ve got a mother-of-all prank set up. It’s not me, is it? Seriously, guys, not today, please. I wiped out in the mud earlier and I’m already wearing the only spare set of clothes I have with me. So whatever you planned, save it, okay?”

“Sure!” Jared said. Nick was right, Jensen thought. Jared did sound unusually biddable, and too bouncy, even for him. Jensen needed to get home, needed time to think about what had happened.

To the director’s delight, the next take was perfect, and he called a wrap for the day.

* * *

“So, how do you want to do this?” Jared asked, while they waited for desserts. Jared had ordered Jensen a slice of the house pie, in honor of Dean, and Jensen, in turn, ordered Jared a slice of the mile-high chocolate cake, eliciting a loud guffaw from Jared, and making them momentarily the center of attention. Most of the patrons soon returned to their meals, and there were only a few continued stares and repeated covert glances from those who recognized them. Jensen could live with that.

“Do what?” Jensen quickly went over the recent conversation to find a context for the out-of-the-blue question. He had to do that a lot when talking to Jared.

“Us,” Jared said. The simple, casual words froze Jensen with his fork halfway to his mouth. A big piece of lettuce fell off and smeared some kind of raspberry-poppyseed vinaigrette on the front of his shirt before it landed on the floor. Jensen watched it lying there, and tried to get his thoughts in order before looking at Jared. Jensen had managed to tell himself that this supper was similar to the many others they had shared. Jared had seemed disappointed by Jensen’s avoidance, but willing to go along with it, and they had relaxed into their usual conversation.

“Us?” Stall, just a bit longer, he thought. He was not ready for this. Jared still stared at him, but his relaxed, happy smile faded a bit.

“Yeah. . . you and me. Us,” he looked at Jensen, and the smile was gone, hidden behind an expressionless mask. “Jen, what do you want? From me? What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.” The whisper rocked Jared back in his seat.

“Do you even want me like this? I’d thought . . . the kiss. Jensen, is this what you want?” Yes! Jensen failed to shout. Jared waited, but Jensen sat chewing on his lip and nothing came out. When did he get to be such a chicken-shit? Jensen wondered, as Jared shut himself off. Had his ex screwed him up as much as Chris thought?

“Okay. You need to figure it out.” Jared said. He folded the napkin he’d been toying with, and Jensen watched him reach into his wallet and pull out a bill before cluing in to what Jared was doing.

“Wait! Jared . . . I . . . I just need to think—“

“Yeah, you do.”

He looks hurt, Jensen thought. The next moment he was annoyed, but didn’t know why. He just needed time to sort through everything, all the possible repercussions.

“Stop, I. . .”

“Yes. You.” Jared clipped his words and Jensen must have misinterpreted his expression: Jared was not hurt, he was pissed off. “You need to get yourself together. It’s okay if you don’t want this; I was dealing with just being friends. But then you . . . Figure it out.” Jared narrowed his gaze. “But I’m going to get on with my life while you do that.”

Jensen’s mouth fell open as Jared walked away without looking back, and brushed by the waiter who had arrived with their desserts.

That night Jared brought someone to his room and Jensen couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Jensen covered the vent with a pillow, but he could still hear everything.

* * *

## Episode 3.18, Bent Out Of Shape

There were no more sexcapades while Jared took time off to visit with his family. Sam didn’t show up at all in episode 17, so while Jensen and Misha shot that one, Jared had a break.

Jensen had spent the week worrying. While Jared would have probably dealt with stress by consuming copious amounts of sugar in all its many forms, Jensen fasted. He didn’t intend to, it was just that anytime he tried to eat, it all tasted like ash and his stomach twisted. He was barely able to choke down a few bites of each meal. Thoughts in his head swirled round and round, preventing him from sleeping, and preventing him from enjoying television or reading. Exercise might have helped if he hadn’t had so many memories of Jared in that space that his absence had been almost like a physical blow, the one time he entered the room.

Jensen wasn’t gay. He had never even considered it. He had the cheerleader girlfriends, and he had married a drop-dead gorgeous model. It hadn’t been a trick to deceive anyone either, he loved women. Only now it looked like he wasn’t all that choosy about gender. Shit. How had he not known before now?

* * *

“ACTION”

Jensen looked up into the mirror, but no matter how much he tried, he only saw himself, not Dean. It was going to be one of _those_ days. He angled his chest, with his hip leaning slightly forward towards the camera, and leaned his shoulders further back to avoid shadows. He felt ridiculous. He dropped his head forward two beats before bringing his hands up to gently poke—“Do _not_ poke at them, Jensen! I’ll just have to touch it up again!”—at the wrinkled scars along his ribs. He narrowed Dean’s eyes and made his brows furrow. He looked at himself again in the mirror and, from the corner of his eye, saw the camera movement, which he ignored.

“Sam,” Jensen said to the mirror, “it’s not what everyone thinks. This thing . . . it’s a shape-shifter. It can take off its skin and become someone else. It . . . Fuck! Who the hell would believe this crap!? It’s insane!” Jensen picked up a mug from the side of the sink and threw it into the mirror. The mirror was supposed to shatter. With a bang and thud, the mug fell to the floor, mirror intact, and Jensen fought a smile. It wouldn’t do to stop now. Filming another cup smashing was an easy fix, almost expected. The shot of him staring at his fractured reflection would be a separate shot anyway.

Jensen clenched Dean’s eyes and brought his hands up to pull at his hair. “Aaaaah!” Jensen yelled. Dean, stressed beyond his ability to rein himself in, had just lost control of his tentacles. At this point, CGI would add the sinuous limbs emerging from the prosthetic scars. Jensen threw his arms back and yelled again.

“CUT. Jensen, take it again from when Dean throws the cup. Try a different yell this time. Maybe more angry. Then try it sad. We’ll see what works best.”

* * *

Jensen gave an experimental clearing of his throat and winced to note that it hadn’t recovered yet from all the screaming. He hoped the next scene would still work if Dean spoke in a lower voice. It probably would. He had finished the last of his lemon honey tea when he saw Jared, back from vacation, leave wardrobe and come towards the set. Jensen had finally crawled into his Dean-space, but Jared walking onto set kicked him out of it again.

Jensen’s fingers drummed a constant silent rhythm against his leg as he and Jared waited on the set that had been redone to resemble a family kitchen. A red-soaked white cloth lay over a person-sized lump. Jensen knew the actress was already in position under the cloth—not a good place for the kind of conversation he and Jared needed to have.

“Hey Jared,” Jensen said. Jared tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Can we talk later? Maybe tonight?”

“Not really a good time. Chad’s meeting me here later, and we’re going out to a club tonight. How about tomorrow? We can talk during lunch, in my trailer,” Jared said, with a small crooked smile that made Jensen think that maybe he wasn’t looking forward to this either.

“Line ‘em up ladies,” the director called, and everyone found their marks.

“Okay,” Jensen told Jared as he walked by the other man. With a bit more time before having to talk things out, Jensen more easily found his Dean-space. Dean had spent all episode trying to track the shapeshifter while hiding the truth from Sam, who he knew would never believe him.

* * *

“ACTION”

Sam lifted the cover draped over the body to reveal a young woman in her mid-twenties. A long bloody gash in her clothing showed the location of the knife wound.

“She’s been disemboweled,” Sam said quietly, and Dean knelt beside him, using a pen to move the sheet from her bound wrists.

“She fought,” Dean said, voice gruff. “Legs too?” Sam moved to check the woman’s legs.

“Yeah. Same M.O. as the others.” Sam studied the room and Dean darted a quick glance at him before bending down to lift a translucent flake of something under the victim’s fingernail. He brought it close to examine, and quickly wrapped it up in a tissue and slipped it in his pocket as Sam turned around. Dean stood up and began pacing the room.

“Freakin’ shifter,” he muttered, out of Sam’s hearing. “Where the hell are you?”

“Dean,” Sam said, from closer than Dean had expected. “We can’t seem to find the person doing this. And I don’t think continuing to track Ms. Perling will give us anything. What are we missing?” Dean looked into Sam’s focussed gaze and his mouth opened before he blinked and closed it again.

“I don’t know, Sam,” he said, walking to look out the window.

“Maybe I do,” Sam said. “This might sound crazy to you, but have you ever heard of something that can change its form? A shape-shifter?” Dean spun back to stare at Sam, who held up his hands. “I know. I know,” Sam continued, “that it sounds crazy. But just consider that there are many things in the world people don’t know about and that sometimes stories are actually based on truth.”

“You know about shifters?” Dean asked, breathless.

“I know about a lot of things,” Sam said. “And—don’t freak out, okay?” Sam’s eyes shifted pointedly to Dean’s chest. “I know your secret.”

Jensen didn’t have to fake the shortness of breath and the drops of sweat that broke out under Jared’s intense stare.

“CUT”

* * *

The next day, nerves shot, Jensen took a deep breath and decided not to put it off any longer. The buildup of tension was killing him, and all week he had flubbed his lines, unable to concentrate. Yesterday, Jared had seemed no better. Jensen slipped into his trailer when Jared answered his knock with a shouted, “Yeah, c’mon in.” Jensen’s resolve wavered at Jared’s bright smile. Another deep breath, and a prayer for the man to understand.

“I don’t wanna be out, Jared.” Jensen whispered the admission. He had shoved his hands into the front pockets of Dean’s jeans, and hoped it would hide the small trembling of his arms. He had just said, out loud, that there was something to be out about. Holy shit! “What? Wha . . .wh . . . you . . . and me? You don’t . . .” Jared looked as though someone had just slapped him.

“No! That’s not what I. . . I lo . . .Jared I want this. You and me. But just you and me. We don’t have to tell anyone else. It’s just . . . my family, career. . . I can’t do it now.”

“When? How long do you want to sneak around? Like it’s wrong. Like I’m . . . I’m not ashamed of us, Jensen.”

“Oh god, no, I’m not ashamed of you! You are . . . are . . . amazing. It’s me. I just don’t want anyone to know about me. It would cause problems, and this way we can just avoid all that crap, y’know.”

Jared’s face was unreadable again, the same as it had been during their mutual-dislike phase.

“You’re important to me, Jared,” Jensen pleaded, willing him to understand. “Can’t we just have this? And just tone things down in public . . .”

“In public.” The flat monotone seemed out of place coming from Jared’s mouth. “Public like with the fans?”

“Yeah, that’s . . .”

“And with the crew? And with our friends, and your family? That kind of public?” Jensen preferred the monotone to the sharp, harsh tone that emerged as Jared spoke.

“I don’t want to be out,” Jensen said again.

“What do you think is so wrong about us?”

“Listen, maybe it’s easy for you, but . . .”

“EASY!” The thin trailer walls vibrated. Jared’s mouth opened and closed without sound and his eyes opened wide as the expression on his face changed rapidly. He closed his mouth with a snap and the thin line of his lips was white. His eyes closed then opened again, once he’d taken a couple deep breaths. “Fuck. You. Jensen. You fucking. Asshole.”

It rocked Jensen backwards. He’d never seen Jared furious before and wished he could have taken back the words. Lanie’s ‘ _Fuck, men are idiots,_ ’ resounded in his head. Shrinking somewhat under the fixed stare and Jared’s flaring nostrils, Jensen wondered if maybe he was the jerk that Sam always called Dean.

“Easy. Easy,” Jared repeated again, a harsh whisper just for him. “You think coming out was easy for me? You’re having problems coming out at what, thirty?” _Not yet_ , Jensen thought, but was smart enough not to say, and Jared continued. “I was fifteen! In a conservative high school! Forced out by my asshole boyfriend. How . . . how could you think anything about that was easy?!”His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, until he straightened his shoulders and stared unflinchingly at Jensen.

“It cost a lot. Coming out,” Jared continued, and his voice was steady and firm. “But I survived, and I’m proud of me. I’m not going to hide, not again. Not even for you. Get. Out.” Without waiting, Jared pushed past Jensen and walked stiffly towards Misha’s trailer. Jensen left, shutting the door and became the subject of dozens of stares. _Shit._ Jensen wilted under the silent disapproving looks around him, and slipped on his don’t-fuck-with-me mask as he straightened his shoulders with effort and walked off on a divergent path.

* * *

## Episode 3.19, Fathers and Sons

“You’re both idiots.” Lanie never minced words when she chose to offer an opinion, which she rarely did. Jensen said nothing to refute her. She was usually right, anyway. He was bare-chested again, and Lanie was applying stuff from various jars to mask the area where the fake latex scars met his skin. He sat alone with Lanie this morning. He and Jared still hadn’t had any meaningful conservation, keeping to content-less comments to maintain a fiction of camaraderie on set.

Being gay wasn’t the big deal it used to be, his rational mind told him, and in theatre it wasn’t even noteworthy. In that respect the film and television industry hadn’t quite caught up yet, but it was getting there. He knew his family would be decorating the house in rainbow flags to show their support if he told them, and it would be a non-issue with most of his friends. He didn’t have to guess; he’d already had the dress rehearsal. And that, he finally decided, was the problem.

Adding any measure of legitimacy to anything his ex had said, or might later say, set his blood boiling. After having steadfastly denied her doctored photos, and the tabloid’s made-up stories about his many homosexual romps, his credibility would take a big hit if he came out now. His insistence that he was straight had not been a lie, not then, but no one would ever believe it. His friends and parents had forgiven him for hiding his non-existent gayness from them; they would be rightfully hurt to think that he had spurned their acceptance and barricaded himself back into the closet.

“Stupid fucking men, who can’t use their goddamned words . . .” Lanie muttered, in a quiet-enough voice that she could disavow the words if needed, but still have her views known.

Again, thought Jensen, she had a point. Jared didn’t understand what he was asking, since Jensen, as a rule, never talked about the breakup of his marriage. Chris might have mentioned something, but would not have gone into any great detail. And Jensen had certainly never heard anything about Jared’s problems. Fuck, they probably would have to talk about this shit.

* * *

“ACTION”

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and spun him around.

“I saw you!” Dean yelled. “With the guy trying to kill me! Who the hell are you?” Dean pushed Sam into the wall, and Sam let him.

“Dean, let me . . .”

“Who are you?” Dean screamed and slammed him into the wall again.

“Sam.” Sam’s eyes shifted from side to side, looking anywhere but at Dean. “Sam . . . Winchester.” Sam sagged in Dean’s grip. Dean’s eyes widened and his face grew slack, making him look like a little kid who’d had his only dream crushed. His face hardened.

“John?” Dean asked through clenched teeth.

“My dad.”

Dean shut his eyes and took a staggering backwards step away from Sam. Sam watched him, as if he wanted to explain, but didn’t know how. Then Dean raised his head and his eyes snapped open, boring into Sam.

“It was you,” Dean said. When Sam showed no understanding, he continued, angry. “You. I told everyone there was a second person, and no one fucking believed me! It was you who shot me! In the woods! That whole fucking _rescue_!”

“No, you got it wrong! Dean! Dean, listen,” Sam said as he backed away from Dean’s advance. “I had to—you’d got him! He is my _father_ , Dean. I was supposed to kill you, yes, but I didn’t! I was careful; it was a clean shot, nothing vital!”

“I almost died, Sam. You tried to kill me!”

“I _saved_ you! You’d lost blood and fell into the river. I went in after you—got you out. I never wanted to hurt you.” Sam looked near to tears.

“Ha.” Dean’s laugh held no humor. “Well, you did.”

“CUT.”

## Episode 3.20, We Are What We Pretend To Be*

(*Kurt Vonnegut, _Mother Night_ )

“I’m sorry,” Jensen said, relieved as all fuck that Jared let him in his trailer. Jensen couldn’t stand it anymore; he missed their friendship.

“What do you think will happen?” Jared asked him, after a moment of scrutiny.

“I don’t know! And, it’s not even so much the gay thing. It’s that I’ve already denied those damn photos and the circus has finally settled down. And they were false. I swear. I’ve never . . . Before this, I . . .”

“I get it, Jen.”

“I mean, my family was great, mostly, but it just wasn’t true. And if I come out, now, after I already denied being into guys, no one will believe anything I say. She could have a field day with whatever trash she wanted to put out there and no one would believe the truth.”

“Okay.” Jared played with the frayed hem of his shirt.

“No! Not okay! ”

“Yeah, but I get what a big deal it is. I’m sorry I pressured you. Really. I was dragged out of the closet. I won’t do that. Ever. Force you to come out before you’re ready.”

“What I said, before, the easy thing . . . that wasn’t what I meant.” No, that sounded like he might be blaming Jared for misunderstanding. “Um, no. That is. . . it didn’t come out right, and I didn’t mean . . .” No, his mamma always said to take responsibility and stop making excuses—of course, she’d been talking about accidentally breaking his sister’s art project while roughhousing with his brother. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” But Jared’s words were lessened by the smile that had started as he listened to Jensen’s bumbling apology. Jensen would have held a grudge, but he thought that Jared might be the better man.

“About your coming out and everything,” Jensen said, “It was bad, huh? I can be a good listener. If you want to talk about it. Do you want to? Talk about it, that is?”

“No. I really don’t.” Jared stared at the wall, watching something far away, before focusing on Jensen once again. “I’m going to clobber you at Rockstar.” Jensen could feel his smile split his face, as Jared tossed him the fake guitar and dove forward to start up the game where the box sat by the TV. Jensen’s tense shoulders ached as he relaxed them, sinking into the couch next to Jared. No talking about crap and feelings. Lanie was wrong; men were awesome.

Jared won the game, but Jensen didn’t care.

* * *

“So, where does that leave us?” Jensen said, a little while later, as they sat munching Gummi Bears.

“Not sure.” Jared looked up at him. “Friends?” Jensen frowned. They were already friends.

“With benefits?” Jensen looked away as he asked, and hated the hesitation in his voice. No one had ever made him feel so insecure.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Jared said immediately with a friendly elbow, and both of them smiled.

“But Jared, I can’t listen to your one-night stands anymore. Seriously, I’ll go mad.” Jensen was serious but Jared just laughed.

“So long as we have benefits, I won’t get benefits anywhere else. Promise,” Jared said. Jensen thought it sounded suspiciously like a relationship, which Jared had promised never to have with someone still closeted. But if Jared calling it an exclusive friends-with-benefits arrangement meant that they could try this, then Jensen was in.

“It’s just . . . you shouldn’t have to settle.”

“Oh, trust me.” Jared’s smile and blatant appraisal made Jensen squirm as his pants became too tight. “Nothing about _this_ is settling. And I’m not hiding who I am. I’m out, and staying there. Besides, you’ll get there eventually.”

“Will I?” Jensen wondered.

“Yep!” Jared said, and there was a bounce in the word.

“So an exclusive friendly relationship,” Jensen repeated, and laughed at Jared’s off-key rendition of “Never had a friend like me” from Aladdin. Jensen watched the flicker of Jared’s tongue over his bottom lip as Jared walked closer, until his chest pressed Jensen’s, and forced him to take a step back into the wall of the trailer.

“That’s it exactly. And there’s no waiting period on the benefits. Maybe I should go over them in detail, so you’re aware of your coverage,” Jared finished by tracing up the side of Jensen’s neck with the tip of his nose, his hot breath following the trail. Jensen let his head thunk back against the wall and let out a shuddering breath. Every nerve tingled with Jared’s proximity. He _wanted_.

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/fanlay/14065139/30497/30497_1000.jpg)

The loud knock on the trailer door made Jensen jump, but he made no move to move out of the cage of Jared’s arms. Jared hummed his approval and the sound traveled directly to Jensen’s groin.

“Jared, you’re needed on set. Is Jensen with you? He’s not in his trailer.” Jensen knew that the PA would be getting no reply from him, as his language faculties had been scrambled.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Jared called out, as his hands dropped to undo Jensen’s fly. “And tell them Jensen will be coming real soon.” Jared immediately latched his mouth onto a point beneath Jensen’s ear and Jensen tilted his head and widened his legs to give Jared better access.

“Oh fuck,” Jensen whispered. Jared had slipped a hand inside his boxer-briefs and had a firm, sure grip on his cock.

“Not yet,” Jared whispered into his ear as he jacked him. “That I don’t do with friends.” Their eyes met and Jensen gave a slight nod of understanding before Jared claimed Jensen’s halting breath in a soul wrenching kiss, and Jensen’s vision whited out as he came over Jared’s hand.

As Jensen reoriented himself, Jared kissed him, a light, gentle brush over his lips. “Come on,” he said sunnily, “we’re needed on set.”

* * *

“ACTION”

Dean held his gun steady on John. John narrowed his gaze and focused on Dean through the gun’s sight. A standoff. Dean’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly as he prepared himself to shoot.

“Wait! No! Don’t. Dad, it’s not him!” John’s attention shifted to Sam who had caught up to them, yelling. “It wasn’t him! A shape-shifter. It was a shape- shifter. I saw its shed skin. Dad—those people—it wasn’t Dean.” John’s face twisted in disgust when Sam mentioned Dean by name.

“You’re too close to this situation, Sam. Take a step back. It’s a monster; this is our job,” he said, and his hand never wavered.

“No! Please listen! Dean never hurt anyone. He helps people.”

“Oh, really? Tell that to those boys it killed.”

“That was a mistake!” Dean yelled, looking shaken for the first time, and John raised the corners of his mouth in a tiny smile neither Dean nor Sam could see. He’d found a weak spot. “I was a kid, and I had no idea . . .”

“They were kids too,” John shouted back, and Dean’s face lost all color. “Kids that were buried in closed coffins. It’s not a ‘he’, Sam, it’s an ‘it’.” Dean tensed his hold of the gun. John’s smile now could be seen, and it shouted ‘bring it on!’ clearer than words could.

“No, Dean!” said Sam, and his voice became calm, reasoning. “Just drop the gun, okay. He’s not going to shoot.”

“Like hell!” John and Dean met each other’s eyes as they heard the other echo their words. A tackle from the shadows sent John landing hard on the ground, with a ‘whoof’ of exhaled breath. Sam knelt on top of him, raining down punches.

“Dad!” Sam’s horrified shout came from Dean’s right and Dean watched as Sam impossibly ran forward to pull himself off his father. Both Sams tumbled away.

“Sam? What?” Dean said, before he realized what had happened. One of the Sams gained the upper hand and began smashing the other’s head against the ground.

“I got him, Dean,” Sam said.

“No, wait!” Dean quickly holstered his gun and ran over, not wanting to risk the wrong Sam.

“Help! Dad!” choked out the Sam lying on the ground. He tried in vain to struggle, but all his moves were quickly countered. John shook off his stupor and wiped at the blood flowing into his eyes from the cut on his forehead. John grabbed the topmost Sam in a choke hold and dragged him away from the other.

“Thanks,” Sam said as he sat up slowly.

“Dammit, it’s him! Hurry, Dean, give me a hand,” Sam yelled to Dean from John’s solid grip.

“What should we do with it?” said the other Sam, lifting himself up, and moving to stand next to Dean and offering a nod to John. John looked between the identical incarnations of his son and his grip on the Sam he held loosened. Dean never hesitated. A tentacle shot out to trap the hand that was going for the gun, and a second wrapped itself around Sam’s neck and twisted. Sam’s eyes widened, and with the sickening snap, he crumpled to the ground. Dean’s tentacles retracted.

“No! Sam!” John shouted and knelt by the fallen form. The Sam still standing walked over to him and handed him a silver knife.

“I’m me, Dad. Check,” he said, and drew the knife in a shallow cut against the meat of his palm. Dean frowned, clearly not knowing the significance of the silver. John took Sam’s knife and cut the arm of the dead Sam. A thin plume smoke rose from the wound. John bent his head and took a few deep breaths, then he turned to Dean, holding the knife ready.

“How did you know?” he demanded. Dean assumed a pained expression, as if he knew that his answer would bring up more problems.

“I don’t know. I could just tell. It felt wrong.” He shrugged, unable to explain it any clearer, when he really didn’t know himself. Dean pressed his lips together into a tight line as his words drew the expected anger from John Winchester.

“Just something you can do? Sniff out your own kind? This is what you call a human, Sam?” John said. Dean’s face hardened, and he brought his gun to bear on John.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he slowly moved towards his father, angling to place himself between them.

“Solving a problem,” Dean said.

“You need us, Dean!” Sam said. “Hunters. You can’t—the system can’t handle the kinds of things we see. Shape-shifters are only the tip of it.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t. You need us.”

“What do you want me to do? He knows. He’s hunting me!”

“He’ll leave you alone,” Sam promised, paying no attention to John’s shocked “Sam!” Sam stood tall, and squared his shoulders back as he faced his father. “He’s not hurting anyone.”

“He just tried to kill me,” John muttered, but said, “Fine.” John narrowed his eyes at Dean. “For now. I’ll be keeping tabs. You slip up, at all, and I’ll be back. No second chance. Understood?” Dean nodded, and from his pinched expression, it was obvious that he was still angry, but he forced himself to let it go.

“Fuck. Alright. Come on, Sam, let’s go,” John said, as he searched the ground, making sure none of their belongings would be left behind.

“Sam?” Dean asked. Sam looked towards his father, who was dragging the shape-shifter’s body to the Impala.

“Give me a minute,” Sam told Dean.

“What are you waiting for?” John said as Sam approached. “Someone might have heard something; we have to get going.”

“No, I think we should stay here, and maybe look around for any other shifters.”

“Sam, get in the car. Job’s done.”

“I have a job here, at the department, and I’m good at it.”

“I trained you, of course you’re good. But this detective shit is fake, Sam, you get that right? Those papers I made up were adequate for the job, but sooner or later someone’s going to take a closer look. Come on, let’s go. I’m friggin’ starving.”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“No. Dean and I work pretty well as partners. I want to stay here for a bit.”

“Dean? That . . . that thing? You’re choosing it over me?”

“I’m not choosing anything. I just want to stick around in one place for a bit. Pretend to be normal for a while.”

“I’m leaving. Get in the car, or not. Either way, I’m leaving town. If you choose to stay, to work with it, we’re done.”

“But Dad . . .”

“Choose, Sam.” John walked to the Impala, slowly, but steadily. Soon the engine’s rumble echoed in the clearing.

“Dad!” Sam banged on the passenger window, throwing beseeching eyes at John. John leaned over and, without lowering the window, yelled, “You coming?” Face slack, eyes wide and unbelieving, Sam shook his head ‘no’. John sat up in his seat, and the Impala drove away.

Dean walked up to Sam, and noted his tears. He hadn’t caught everything, but he’d heard enough. “Sam? You okay?” Sam shook his head and gulped in some breaths. When he had gathered himself, he turned to Dean. “I guess I have nowhere to stay. And no money.”

“Come on, you can stay with me.”

Four months later (to be added in post-production):

A phone rang amid the bustle and background noises of office chatter. Dean, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, picked it up while trying to put on his jacket at the same time. He listened for a moment and then bellowed. “Sam. Phone.” Sam’s hair had grown out a bit and he brushed it out of his face as he took the receiver, smiling at something a colleague had just said. As he listened, Sam’s smiled faded. He was chewing side of his lip when he put the phone down.

“That was a family friend,” he said softly to Dean. “Dad’s missing.” As much as he tried to keep any news of John Winchester from Dean—some gulfs were simply too wide to bridge—Dean knew anything involving the father who’d disowned him sent Sam on an emotional roller-coaster. And Dean could see the worry through the charade Sam projected. Glancing to the side, and conscious of the people around, Sam took a breath, as if having decided something.

“Dad was Hunting,” Sam said, adding emphasis to the word, and Dean’s shoulders tensed as he understood. “Caleb said he missed the rendezvous.”

Dean nodded, fished his badge out of his pocket, and placed it on his desk with his issued firearm. He looked up at Sam. “When do we leave?”

“CUT! And that’s a wrap for this season! Break out the beer!”

* * *

## Epilogue

Jensen drummed his fingers on window of the Shangri-la Hotel, and looked over the harbour to where the lights illuminated the Sydney Opera House. He still held his phone to his ear as he rested his forehead on the cool glass pane; it took Chris a long time to pick up.

“Yeah?” Chris’ voice came through the phone, thick and grumpy. Jensen abruptly remembered that he hadn’t taken into account the time difference between Portland and his convention in Australia. “Someone better be dying,” Chris mumbled.

“Hi, Chris.” Jensen took a couple fortifying breaths, and eyed the unopened bottle of Glenlivet, half-hidden on the table behind a bag of chips.

“Jensen? What’s wrong?” He sounded more awake now.

“Nothing. I . . . just have something to tell you. About me.”

“It can’t wait? What time is it any—”

“No. It can’t wait. I need to do this. Okay. So, um. Okay, it’s about me and Jared . . .”

* * *

end

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful artist who brought the story to life; it was a pleasure working with you. Please visit fanlay’s journal to see the amazing artwork and leave feedback.
> 
> A huge thank you to dutch_chick674 (who read this piecemeal as it was being written), both for the cheerleading and for her honesty in telling me when my shiny new scenes weren’t working.
> 
> I am indebted to my betas, keep_waking_up and peaches854. Thank you both for catching my blunders and pointing out things that I had overlooked. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thank you to cleflink for patiently answering all my convention questions, to the mods of spn_j2_bigbang for holding this event, and to the mods and members of omgspnbigbang for the support.
> 
> Written for spn_j2_bigbang, 2013.
> 
> Feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading. - WT
> 
> (Nov 2014: edited to make small changes to a very minor character - changes do not impact story)


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